Slaves to the Spirits
by JellyLove01
Summary: Everything was fine until it was all broken.
1. Chapter 1

**Slaves to the Spirits**

 **Chapter One**

* * *

 _This story contains violence and coarse language, and may be distressing to some readers._

* * *

Envy flared beneath her skin. What had started as the tiniest of pricks was slowly becoming something consuming, a fire burning beneath tawny beige skin. Ignited a mere half hour ago in the doctor's office, it burst into something violent and hateful as the car rolled past what appeared to be a suburban dream.

The home was cozy, decorated festively for the Christmas season with flashing coloured LED lights and childish attempts at snowmen lining the front yard. Through the yellow glowing square of the front sitting room window, Emily could see the family gathered in that cramped space. Kim was nursing her baby daughter while Jared played with his three-year-old son. Smiling. Everyone of them grinning so wide she thought their faces might crack in half. It was a picturesque family, a scene that could have easily been some excerpt from a Christmas movie, only two blocks away from her own cold and spiritless home.

She looked away and gritted her teeth. Her husband reached over to pat her knee.

"I know it's hard," he said. Emily was sure that if she glimpsed over at him, he would be wearing that pained smile he had been wearing all night whenever he looked at her. "We still have each other."

She nodded and pretended to find comfort in his words. Sam allowed himself to be reassured by the slight movement of her head.

Gravel crunched beneath tyres as the car pulled up at the house. Emily flung the door open before her husband had even brought it to a stop, jumped out of the truck as he put on the handbrake. He called out for her to wait but she refused to allow him the time to come around and collect her, sickened by the actions she had once thought of as sweet. He thought she was weak, fragile, about to break down any second now.

She wouldn't. She refused.

The house was dark and empty. Hours of vacancy had left the space cold, the air biting her skin as Emily stepped across the threshold. Sam flicked the lights on quickly, illuminating the dark rooms with a false warmth. It did little to mask the loneliness that reeked from the floorboards, the lifelessness of the place.

Emily closed and locked the door behind her, hesitated for a moment in the entrance. She could lean a little to the left and see into the dining room, see the seats around the dining table to be empty. The highchair they had bought months ago, back when they had been so sure, was still unused. The dips and planes of white plastic, the navy blue seat. She wanted to throw it away. She wanted to, because she paused in the doorway and, for a moment, could see him. She imagined her baby - their baby - sat there, with his chubby cheeks and wide smile, gurgling when he saw his Mama. He'd have had Sam's nose and Emily's eyes, straight black hair, fat little legs. He was going to be perfect.

It was meant to be perfect.

She inhaled sharply, an involuntary reaction, the kind of response caused by physical pain as she stumbled over something unwelcome, a memory she'd never encountered. Emily shook her head, dumped her leather bag on the table by the entrance and continued into the kitchen where Sam was watching her closely.

"Do you mind?"

Sam winced at the clipped tone, straightened up and shifted his weight. He looked at her for a long moment. "Are you okay?'

She laughed, not because it was funny but because she didn't know what else to do. She could laugh or she could cry.

She'd decided to save the latter for another time.

"You okay?" he repeated after a moment. There was something in his face she didn't like. Pity, maybe. She felt her gut wrench at the thought.

She clamped her mouth shut then, narrowed her eyes at him. How could he understand? How could he even ask her something like that? She shouldered past him as she stalked towards the fridge, yanking the door open to stare moodily into the cold depths.

"Em," he sighed.

"I need a drink."

"Ice water?"

"Alcohol."

He ran a hand down his face as he shook his head. "Babe, I don't think-"

"I said I need a damn drink."

Sam hesitated, but crossed the kitchen to stand beside her. He leaned into the fridge, seizing a cold bottle of beer. His eyes were some odd blend of emotion when Emily took it from him, something she couldn't work out. Dark and frustrated and empathetic and pained all at once.

She cracked open the bottle and took a long swig. Eager to forget.

He frowned, focusing on the bottle as she pulled it away from her mouth. "Maybe that's not a good idea."

Swiping the back of her hand over her lips, Emily turned her angered eyes towards her husband. "To hell with your stupid theories, Sam."

The look of confusion on his face lit a fire within her that could not be extinguished, different from before, born out of rage. The flames flickered in her belly, licked their way up her throat to escape her mouth as scorching hot anger. Her blood boiled as he gaped, mouth hanging open. In that moment, she couldn't stand him. She couldn't stand the look on his face, the judgement in his eyes, the way he was watching her like she was about to crash to the floor crying.

"Do you really think," she asked him, "that the pack imprints on women who have the best chance to reproduce?"

Sinking his teeth into his bottom lip, Sam looked away from her. "I won't argue with you about this."

"No, you never want to argue, do you? You just want to be right," she sneered. "That's all you ever care about."

Maybe she would have gotten away with it any other night, if it was about anything else. But tonight, Sam gave in more easily than usual, more easily than he would have liked. He would have liked to wrap her up in his arms and reassure her that it wasn't an ending, that it couldn't be an ending. He didn't though. He flared up, let anger consume him, puffed his chest out. "You know I couldn't have known," he told her. "The elders and the legends-"

"I lost my son, Sam!" she screamed. "Do you really think your stupid theories matter? My son will never even see his first birthday. Who cares about the stupid legends?"

There was something in her face that melted his resolve, something in the brittleness of her voice that had his anger dissipating instantly. The furrow between his brows was now the result of something else entirely, some heavier feeling deep within his chest. He stepped closer to her, pried the beer from her grasp and set it on the counter. "He was my son, too." Thumbing away the tears running down her cheeks, he tried his best to bite back the ones that threatened to escape his own tear ducts. "I'm sorry this happened to us."

"I am too."

Sam pulled her into his chest. She couldn't see the tears that way, but felt them pattering onto her hair. It was the first time he'd cried in front of her since it happened, the first time he'd allowed himself to be anything but the emotionless anchor he thought she needed him to be.

Emily knew he would deny it later.

She felt his lips against her hair, his deep sigh stirring black strands. "I know this isn't what we were hoping for," he said slowly, "but there are always other ways."

"Other options," Emily scoffed. "Didn't you hear him? He said it was impossible."

"He didn't say that."

"He might as well have." Emily broke away from his arms to retrieve her beer from the counter.

"If we really want this, we could adopt. Or we could find a surrogate."

Emily paused, her beer floating in air as she slowly lowered it from her lips. Her eyes bored into his face for a long moment.

"I know it's not what-"

"Why are you with me?"

It had been a long time since Emily had seen that look on her husband's face, months even. Pure terror. His eyes were wide and his jaw was slack. He stood motionlessly, a statue, silent.

Maybe she'd broken him.

"I can't give you children," she said, turning her stare to the white tiles beneath her feet. "I'm-"

"No," he said sternly. She looked up to see him approaching her quickly, placing his warm hands on her shoulders. "I love you, Emily Uley. I'm in love with you." His dark eyes were serious, pleading. He wanted her to believe him. He was desperate to convince her of this truth. "And whatever makes you happy we can do. I want you to be happy."

Emily's vision was going blurry again as tears welled up in her eyes. She wasted no time in stepping into his arms and burying herself in his chest. "Okay," she breathed.

After a moment he began to chuckle lightly, that quiet airy laugh. "Emily Uley," he sighed, giggling like a lovesick schoolboy. "I don't think I'll ever get over the fact that I'm married to you."

"Well, I'd hope not."

Sam peered down at his chest, saw her smirk up at him. He laughed, kissed her lips. "God, I love you."


	2. Chapter 2

**Slaves to the Spirits**

 **Chapter Two**

* * *

Emily couldn't sleep.

The house was too quiet, dead almost. The rain was too loud on the roof, the wind was howling outside. Sleep evaded her, had left her tangled in her sheets reaching out to feel the comforting warmth of her husband. He wasn't there. He hadn't been there for a long time. He was out running patrols. She had longed to feel at least the residual warmth of a body that had been beside her but was met only by cool silk.

The shrill shrieking of the kettle boiling demanded her attention, and Emily took the time to enjoy the task of turning off the stove and adding water to her mug of hot chocolate. Simple. Easy. No thinking. No thinking was good.

Taking a deep breath, she returned the kettle to its hob and pulled her fluffy dressing gown tighter around her body. She let her hot drink warm her hands as she glanced around the kitchen nervously, out of habit, ensuring nothing was anything less than perfect. Of course, the counters were clean, the sink scrubbed down, the dishes neatly stacked behind glass cabinet doors. Though she had grown accustomed to the sharp scent of lemon and bleach, the smell pierced her nose every so often, catching her off guard. It had been like that for weeks now.

Her eyes caught sight of the calendar, suspended on the wall by an iron nail. It was from the dollar store, presented the months with picturesque scenery as though pretty pictures could assuage the bitter loss of time. A vase of roses for February, a field of pumpkins for October, snow covered roofs for December. Emily forced her eyes away, knowing what lurked beneath the clean and sleek plan for December. Another month, a different month, a worse month. The day was crossed out in thick black marker, her attempt at making it so that it never existed. She'd scribbled the number in the corner out, then just coloured the whole box in black. A forest floor covered in dry brown leaves sat atop the month's plan, but the single box of black beneath took something away from the photograph.

Forcing her eyes away, Emily continued down the hallway and towards the staircase. She intended to back to bed. Her slippers scuffed the floorboards as she moved slowly in the dark, ascending the stairs carefully, the light from upstairs spilled down the staircase. The bedroom was at the end of the hall, the door still open, light spilling out and onto the dark floorboards. She knew she should return to it, lay back down and try to sleep. But Emily paused, hesitant. She casted an uncertain glance down the other end of the corridor. Against her better judgement she headed away from the warm bed and the television at the foot of it, towards the white door pulled shut tight.

The doorknob was cold in her grasp, smooth and untouched since the last time she had been in there, and she hesitated before entering, leaning her forehead against the wooden door.

"You know better," she told herself.

Apparently she didn't, because before she had the time to register her actions, the door handle was twisting and the door was opening and she was staring into a dark, dark room.

The air was stale. The room had sat still for too long, undisturbed. Moonlight spilled in through the tall windows on the other side of the room, unaffected by the sheer white curtains pulled over, onto the polished wooden floors. In the darkness she could make out the silhouettes of various pieces of furniture. Automatically, Emily flicked on the light and watched as the ceiling light flickered for a moment - the bulb must have been fault - before turning on and-

Emily wasn't prepared for this. The air left her lungs quickly.

Nothing horrific appeared from the shadows, illuminated now by some artificial light. There were no monsters, just the walls, recently painted a soft blue, and a fluffy cream rug in the shape of a rabbit in the middle of the floor. There was a white crib, the bedding the same shade of soft blue, and off to the side was a changing table and wardrobe. All unused. She'd remembered watching Sam assemble it all on the floor. A bookshelf was placed by the door, the contents ordered by the colour of their spines. There was a plush chair, cream, sat in the corner of the room with a knitted blanket draped over the back of the seat. Currently, it was occupied by a stuffed bear. He wore the tiny sweater Emily had made for him back in October, the one she knitted in the front sitting room. It was meant to be his first toy, his first bear, his favourite. Instead it sat there and watched as darkness turned to light and orange rays of sunlight streamed in through the windows and spilled onto the floors, day after day, untouched by the tiny hands that were meant to clutch at it.

The nursery, meant for their son.

Empty.

"Maybe it's for the best," she said to no one, but even she was not sure that she believed it. Emily turned off the light and moved to grab the bear, sitting in the chair slowly to prevent spilling her hot drink, and leaned her head back to stare at the tall white ceiling.

A wolf howled in the distance, the wind persisted outside, the rain pattered loudly onto the roof.

Did she really want to bring a child, an innocent, defenseless child, into this chaotic mess? To be raised around the constant threat of death?

The answer was obvious in the haunting silence of that room, so horribly obvious. Emily tightened her hold on that poor teddy bear as a red hot poker pierced her heart.

Sam came home sometime after midnight, a giant trying to sneak into a house silently. He did well, it was just the door unlocking that jolted Emily from the fleeting moment of peace she had happened upon. Otherwise he was silent, locking the front door again without a sound, creeping along towards the stairs. He dodged the floorboards that groaned lowly with his weight, somehow already so familiar with the layout of the new house, as if he had been living here his whole life.

He paused at the landing, frowning down the hall towards their shared bedroom. Emily realised that she had left the light on, that he was confused as to why she was up so late. Then he turned around and saw her through the doorway, sat in the nursery, feet tucked up beneath her and eyes puffy, gripping a child's bear in one hand, an empty mug in the other.

"Emily?" he called, bare feet padding across the floor as he approached her. He came to stand just inside of the room, his handsome face washed with moonlight, shadows dipping into the crevices of his forehead as he frowned. "What are you doing up so late?"

Emily swallowed, glanced around, croaked out something that didn't make any sense to him. "The nursery."

His eyes softened as he stepped closer. "Let's go to bed, Em."

She shook her head when he reached for her. "I want a baby."

"I know," he murmured, reaching for her hand and squeezing it firmly.

"No," she said. "I mean, I want… I think…"

"What?" He smiled softly, and Emily glimpsed a trace of amusement dancing in his dark eyes, though perhaps she had merely imagined it in the dim light. "What do you want?"

"I want to adopt."


	3. Chapter 3

**Slaves to the Spirits**

 **Chapter Three**

* * *

Alexander peered over at his older sister, gurgling happily around the big red cube shoved halfway into his mouth. Drool covered the plastic, dribbled down his chin and onto his last good shirt. He watched his sister happily, apparently unaware of the mess he was making, legs extended towards her, heavy-lidded eyes drooping as he squealed half-heartedly and chucked the building block at her. He giggled, kicked his legs happily. Elisabeth sighed deeply.

"You can't throw things at people, Alex," she chided, her tone bored. "This is why we always end up back here, you know."

The toddler stared back at her, the little furrow between his brows reappearing as it often did. He was eerily close to looking like he understood in those moments, but his otherwise bland expression always revealed his lack of comprehension.

Elisabeth reached out to smooth down his dark curly hair. "You're lucky you're cute," she told him, and she meant it. "If only you were cute enough to keep us out of this place."

It seemed cruel to be annoyed at a child, especially one who couldn't comprehend her frustration. Elisabeth couldn't help it though. She knew it wasn't his fault, but she needed something to thrust her annoyance towards, someone to listen to her complains. It wasn't the business of a toddler but who else did she have? Everyone was busy. Everyone was always too damn busy in that place.

She thought she might have glimpsed the tiniest look of understanding in his wide brown eyes, something like a sign, she might have said, if she had lived a life less devastating. Maybe then she could have believed in things like that, but she didn't. Instead, she convinced herself that her brother couldn't possibly have understood, that the look in his eyes was definitely not an invitation for her to pour out all her worries.

She huffed as her sibling's fingers roamed over the dusty floorboards, picking up a wood chip from the ground and pinching it between his thumb and forefinger. He turned the thing over in front of his face, frowning at it.

"You can't eat that." She snatched it from his fat little hands, huffing when he started to make that weird little noise he made just before he started bawling. Breathing funny. "Oh, would you stop that? All you've done today is cry."

Regret seized her before the words had even finished tumbling from her mouth. She wasn't sure if he had understood them, but he was no stranger to tone she said them in. He understood she was upset. The deflated look in his eyes was enough to have her apologising quickly, pulling him onto her lap and wrapping her arms around his pudgy little body. She had never been particularly good with her younger brother, or any children for that matter. She had been the youngest for so long, without younger cousins or neighbours. It left her awkward, deserted on some unfamiliar territory she was left to trek herself.

She didn't think she would ever understand children. They cried so easily and were experts at being annoying and getting into places they shouldn't be, doing things they shouldn't do. They didn't listen to her, they couldn't sit still, and they took forever to do anything. She was by no means his mother either, but all of a sudden she had found herself having to be one, despite the apparent lack of a maternal instinct. Perhaps she was not the best at mothering him, and it shouldn't really have been her job anyway, but as his sister she was fiercely protective over him and had great trouble in letting him out of her sight. She refused to believe it worsened the problem.

"It okay," he sniffled, twisting around in her arms and smiling up at her brightly.

Elisabeth pressed her lips together, unable to muster a proper smile. Looking into his boyish face had grown painful over the last few months. He looked too much like their mother sometimes, had the same warm smile.

"Why don't we play hide-and-seek? I'll count to thirty." Elisabeth made her voice a little more excited than she truly felt.

Alex scrambled to his feet, squealing that she had to close her eyes and stumbling around the place trying to find a good place to hide from her. She didn't have to cheat, didn't need to peek through the gaps between her fingers to see his little shoes peeking out beneath the plum drapes or listen carefully for his quiet little giggles to know that he had hidden behind the tattered fabric. She knew because he always hid there.

She counted to thirty slowly, dragging out the process because it could give her a full minute of peace if she did it slowly enough. A full minute to contemplate what had happened to her life, where everything had gone wrong, how horribly terrible and terribly cruel fate was. Maybe in a different life, things would have been different. Maybe she would have had a nice life with her family, watched her baby brother grow up to be someone important. Maybe she would have started her own family, fallen in love with someone she met someplace unimportant, gotten married, bought a house, paid off a mortgage. Lived an easy life. A boring life.

She would have loved that, once upon a time. Now such a thing seemed impossible, pointless, like she would just be living a lie.

She dusted off her pants as she stood up from the floor, making a big show of looking around the room in search of Alexander, pretending not to hear his squealing and laughter as she looked in all the wrong places.

"Are you hiding… under the table?" she would ask, and then fall down dramatically onto her stomach to peer under the plastic table. "Are you hiding… in the fireplace?" she would call out, and then peer up the chimney, as if she expected to find him stuck in there. "Are you hiding… under the rug?" she would wonder aloud, and then pull back the stained thing to reveal the same dusty floorboards she knew were lying beneath it.

When she snatched back the curtains, Alexander leapt out and attached himself to her legs, wrapping his chubby arms around them as he squealed.

He had always liked becoming invisible.


	4. Chapter 4

**Slaves to the Spirits**

 **Chapter Four**

* * *

Ms. Porter wore her hair close to her scalp, pulled back from her face and twisted into a bun so that her features appeared sharper, harsher, and her cold eyes more distant. She wore navy suit pants and a matching blazer over her crisp white blouse, doused herself in the scent of musk. Elisabeth screwed up her nose. Alex hid behind Elisabeth during her visit, peering over at her every few seconds as if he expected her to disappear if he didn't watch her closely enough. Elisabeth mourned that, the reality that he was so used to people vanishing before him.

"Hello Elisabeth, Alex," she greeted, red painted lips curling up into a smile she probably thought was polite. "I trust you are well."

Elisabeth shifted her weight and folded her arms over her chest. "Why are you here?"

"Such dreadful manners," Ms. Porter tutted. "How do you expect little Alex to learn to say please and thank you when you can't even be pleasant to your caseworker?"

"Seeing you isn't a good thing."

Ms. Porter ignored her, bending at the waist to peer at her brother's face. Her voice rose an octave as she spoke sweetly, falsely. "Are those your blocks over there, Alex?"

He nodded shyly, clutching at the fabric of Elisabeth's shirt with uncertainty. He forgot faces so easily.

"Will you build me a big tower?" she asked. "I want to see, won't you show me?"

Alex glanced up at his sister, hesitating, and it wasn't until Elisabeth nodded that he stumbled over to the pile of plastic cubes and began to stack clumsily.

"He seems to be improving," Ms. Porter noted quietly. "He understood me easily enough."

"He understands plenty."

"Of course all children develop at different rates. There is no reason to be concerned. He could turn out to be a perfectly normal child yet."

Elisabeth gritted her teeth. "You didn't come all the way here just to tell me that."

"You're right." Her brown eyes swung from the child sitting on the floor to the face of his older sister, which she studied for a short few seconds before smiling. "I came to tell you to pack your things."

"Why would I do that?"

"You and your brother have been given an opportunity by the coast. A nice couple with a beautiful home. I'm sure Alexander would like the beach very much."

"It doesn't work like that," Elisabeth insisted. "They're supposed to come here for interviews, and you know the last one didn't go well. Mr. Carter nearly-"

"No interviews." Ms. Porter smiled. "They've already decided on you two. The documents came in almost a week ago confirming it all."

"And nobody told me?"

"Well," Ms. Porter said slowly, "we doubted you would take it well. We thought it would be best to tell you when it became necessary."

"What do you mean, wouldn't take it well?" Elisabeth hissed. "I'm taking this so well. Wonderfully, really."

Ms. Porter smirked and looked at Elisabeth from the corner of her eye. "Of course, dear," she agreed, "you're taking this wonderfully well."

Her eyes danced with disbelief as she looked back at Elisabeth's brother, black patent leather heels clicking against the floorboards as she moved towards him, crouching down to look into his eyes kindly and pet his hair, praising him for the 'magnificent stacking skills he had exhibited'. The tower toppled down only seconds after the words left her mouth.

Alexander burst into tears.

It was merely a matter of short hours before the three were stood out the front of the dilapidated building, Elisabeth once more studying the brickwork of the front side of the building as Alexander happily waved goodbye to the other young children he supposed were his friends. He didn't know it - he never seemed to know it - but he wasn't leaving for a day trip. He was saying goodbye to his friends again, no doubt only to return in a few months, no longer remembering their names or faces or the past weeks of joy he had spent with them. There was something tragic about all of it that forced Elisabeth's eyes away, up and up and up along the front face of the building, studying the climbing ivy and the faded red brick and the dirty windows of the top floor, where she could see the silhouettes of people rushing past every few moments and hear the tail ends of conversations floating down on the cool winter air.

 _"I didn't steal your stupid shoes, Tim! They're ugly and-"_

 _"Mrs. Kinston, I must ask you to offer your expertise with one of the children. You see-"_

 _"Have you seen his papers? He's meant to be leaving next week and I-"_

 _"When's Daddy coming back? He said he was coming back. I want to see my-"_

She heard the sliding of glass, the dull thump of the window closing, and then nothing. Closed out from the world she had grown so accustomed to, full of order and stability and a coldness that was so horribly blatant to her. She wondered if Alex felt it, when he stepped inside after a day out, when he looked for attention and was not awarded it, when he sat at the big dining table and was treated just like all the others, rarely called by his name. She hoped he didn't. She hoped he felt as little as he spoke.

She had a sinking feeling that perhaps it wasn't a realistic desire.

"I know the brickwork is truly fascinating," Ms. Porter began quietly, standing just to her left, "but I'm afraid that the luggage won't move itself."

Elisabeth turned her head to look over at her, noting the blandness to her face, the tired expression masked beneath bright red lipstick and carefully applied concealer and an expression meant to mimic indifference in regards to her future. She jerked her head to the right, over to where the silver sedan was parked on the side of the street. Sighing, Elisabeth walked over to the cluster of bags, picking up one of the tattered duffel bags and moving towards the back of the car, rolling her eyes as she discovered it was still locked.

"Did I forget to unlock the back?" Ms. Porter called, frowning as she approached the car, but it was clear from her tone that she hadn't really. Elisabeth knew she was being punished, forced to stand in the cold for a few extra seconds. Ms. Porter must have thought she cared, but the discomfort of being cold was nothing new to Elisabeth and she waited patiently as her caseworker's slender body rushed towards her. She stood idly, gnawing the pink flesh of her lower lip, trying her best not to roll her eyes at the sound of Ms. Porter's shiny heels clacking on the pavement or the jangling of her keys from the finger she had looped through the keyring.

"Listen," Elisabeth said quietly as Ms. Porter shoved the key into the lock, eyes flickering back towards St. Emiliano's where her brother was standing, currently peering up at a bird's nest curiously. "Ms. Porter." She looked back into her narrowed brown eyes, gulped.

"God, spit it out, would you? What's the matter now?"

"I really can't do this."

Ms. Porter snorted as she tipped back her head, glancing away momentarily. "Is that all? I've told you before and I will say it until I'm blue in the face. We don't make mistakes."

"Then what about all the other times? All the other families and homes that didn't work out?"

Opening the back of the car, Ms. Porter huffed, grabbing the bag from the teenager's firm grasp and throwing it into the car without any degree of care. "There are always some… calibration errors, Elisabeth. We do not live in a perfect world, and you cannot expect perfect things from it."

She shook her head. "You're not listening to me. I really can't do it again. I can't do this to him again, and I don't want to do this anymore. I won't-"

"Elisabeth, everything will be alright," she interrupted, her harsh tone a contradiction to the soft hand resting on her shoulder, the small smile painting her face and the slight melting of her cold gaze. "The first few families usually aren't a perfect match."

Elisabeth had stopped believing in that first sentence a long time ago. "That's what you said last time."

She removed her hand from her shoulder, tipping back her head to let out a little laugh. "Did I? Well it doesn't matter. Now, would you stop with your childishness and go and fetch the rest of the bags? We're losing daylight, dear." She made a shooing motion, clearly expecting that to be the end of the conversation, turning away from the youth and back towards the boot of the car, leaning in and trying to appear busy in the hopes that she wouldn't bother her anymore.

"No," Elisabeth insisted, fingers seizing the older woman's bony wrist. "I'm being serious. I won't put him through that again. You wonder why he's so slow - can't you see it's affecting him?"

Ms. Porter turned back to look at the girl, spine straight as a pin as she looked down at her, tilting her head. "Don't you want a family for him, and for you?" she asked slowly, frowning when she realigned her head. "Don't you think it would help him? Or would you rather he grew up not knowing love, family, and what it means to belong somewhere?"

Elisabeth took a deep breath, her gaze flashing past Ms. Porter as she focused on the young boy. He stood out in his red little jacket, the fabric too thin for the weather but it was all he had. He smiled brightly, unbothered, and ran around playing a game that only existed for him. "He does need a family," she said slowly. She looked back at her caseworker, eyes hard. "But if that means he moves into a new home every two months and calls a hundred different men his father, then maybe it would be better if he just didn't have one."

Ms. Porter tapped the back of Elisabeth's hand sympathetically, though her tone was ice cold and her eyes stoney. "Then perhaps your mother shouldn't have been trying so hard to get that raise, hmm?"

Elisabeth clenched her jaw, stepped closer to the woman. "Don't-"

But she was already taking up her hand in her own weathered palms, frowning down at the peeling skin around her nails. "God, Elisabeth, what did I tell you about chewing your fingers?" she chided, gasping in horror at the state of her digits. "It's a disgusting habit, really! Dr. Jones can say all he likes about anxiety, but we both know it's a load of nonsense," she tutted. "You could stop if you really wanted to."

Elisabeth's hand twitched in her grasp, before she snatched it away from the taller woman, repressing the urge to do something stupid. "Don't you think it's something for Dr. Jones and I to talk about? He's the one with the license."

Ms. Porter sneered. "Of course, dear," she said, her voice drowned in a fake sweetness, the muscle above her left eyebrow twitching. "Now, why don't we finish loading the car and then we can get going? Your brother seems very excited about seeing the ocean for the first time. It wouldn't do to make him wait, now would it?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Slaves to the Spirits**

 **Chapter Five**

* * *

The drive to La Push was long and tiring, as all things are when enclosed in a small space with a toddler, an annoyed teenager, and middle-aged woman unable to sense animosity.

"Tell me about them," Elisabeth demanded, staring into the rearview mirror to mee the dark eyes of her caseworker.

"Your new parents?"

"The people we're staying with," she corrected. She disliked the idea of replacement. She refused to ever accept it.

Ms. Porter offered her a look she was unable to decipher, sighing as she dragged her eyes back from the reflective metal and towards the road. "There are some things you should ask them yourself. How else do you expect to form a relationship?"

"I don't."

"Elisabeth," she warned.

Elisabeth rolled her eyes, looking out the window as she made a face. She could see the faint reflection of herself in the glass as she screwed up her face childishly, blurry beneath a layer of fog. "Elisabeth," she mocked.

"It will be a long few months there if you don't at least try."

Elisabeth would have liked to think she was going to reply with something witty, before her brother gurgled beside her, chubby fingers reaching out for her. "Elise," he cried, the word coming out mangled from his mouth as he pronounced the 'l' more like a 'w' and dragged out the 's' too long. Still, Elisabeth smiled. She couldn't help it. She was just happy he was talking at all. She offered him her hand and the child snatched it quickly as he began to play absently with her fingers.

Unfortunately, Alexander was only cute for the first twenty minutes or so of the drive, before the view no longer satisfied his toddler brain and he longed to be outside. Elisabeth would have preferred he remained cute all his life, but it seemed like an unrealistic wish, and this fact became particularly apparent to her as he reached for lint and what Elisabeth suspected was cat fur from the upholstery of the car seats, seemingly intent on stuffing these strange tiny things in his mouth. He even reached for the door handle a few times, the smart little brat, but didn't have the strength to overcome the child safety lock. The gurgling and happy little squeals had morphed into about three temper tantrums, and he only slept for twenty minute intervals during the trip. When the car finally pulled up in front of a house at the end of a cul-de-sac in some unfamiliar location, all three were beyond delighted to be out of the cramped car, even if it meant exchanging the toasty warmth of the car with the nip of winter air.

"Now," Ms. Porter began, plucking up her bag and a yellow manilla folder from the passenger seat, "you know how important first impressions are, Elisabeth, don't you?"

Rolling her eyes, Elisabeth groaned out an affirmation as the car door slammed shut and her caseworker turned to appraise her.

"You're a pretty little thing," she said after a moment of studying her, eyes narrowed into slits, "even with your horrid manners. So be sure to smile brightly and look at them as if you're the precious little gem of a child on all those old black-and-white television shows." She reached down to fix the bottom of Elisabeth's shirt, pulling it sharply downwards as if it would remove the dozens of creases from the fabric. She fussed over her hair for a moment, smoothing it down, pinching her cheeks so her skin would look rosier and less sickly. Elisabeth knew it wouldn't work. Her cheeks were hollowed her eyes tired and her skin paler than she had ever remembered it to be. Still, when Ms. Porter decided she was presentable, she nodded to herself, one self-assured nod, before moving onto Alex, licking her thumb and swiping away invisible specks of chocolate or jam or some other food substance from his face.

"You know, you can make us as picture-perfect as you want," Elisabeth began, "but it will never change anything."

Ms. Porter rolled her eyes as she straightened back up, petting Alexander's head as she glared at his sister. "You know, I thought selling houses was difficult. Have you ever tried to sell wayward girls and their poor baby brothers to a family? At least the house doesn't disrespect the realtor or the families that live there." She leaned in closer then to Elisabeth, mouth hovering by her ear as she whispered so that Alex wouldn't hear, "You better play nice. You wouldn't want to ruin an opportunity like this for our darling little Alexander, would you? Look at their house, Elisabeth."

Sighing, Elisabeth dragged her eyes from the woman's face and out towards the building they were standing before. She could understand the look in her caseworker's eyes then, the look of wonder, why she was trying so hard to palm the two of them off to this couple.

Their house was large, with two floors and pristine white siding, large glass windows, and a garden out the front that had clearly been well-planned was well-maintained. It was beautiful, clearly expensive. It looked to much like her old one, Elisabeth though, the one she used to live with her parents and her brother in. It bore no real similarities, of course. Her childhood home had been run down, big enough to allow the family to assimilate into the affluent neighbourhood, but also big enough to plunge her family into lifelong debt. But the connections were still clear, despite the disparity in sizing.

There was a clear importance placed on appearance, and it wasn't something she could appreciate. In the same way that her parents had cared about maintaining the illusion of a functional family, this one cared about maintaining the image of perfection. Their grass was mowed, greener than the neighbours', and their windows were spotless. The black truck pulled up alongside Ms. Porter's car was dirty, the only thing out of place, aside from the three of them standing on their driveway.

"Well?"

Elisabeth blinked, turned back to face Ms. Porter. "Of course not."

Her caseworker smirked as she pulled back from where she hovered by her shoulder, tucking a strand of butterscotch hair behind Elisabeth's ear and sending her a gentle smile, almost maternal in her expression. "Good. Let's go meet your new family, shall we?" She took up Alexander's hand in her own, sending one last glare over her shoulder at Elisabeth - a warning to behave - before heading towards the house.

The house still smelt of wet paint and Elisabeth had the sudden urge to reach out and touch the siding to disrupt the carefully painted exterior, to wipe away at least part of the illusion of perfection the couple seemed so adamant to maintain. Ms. Porter glared at her before she could touch it. Elisabeth swallowed, turned away from her. The twinkling Christmas lights lining the roof and front yard stirred up memories Elisabeth would have rather long-since forgotten, and she forced them down desperately as Ms. Porter rang the doorbell in the orangish glow of the evening.

From within, hurried footsteps could be heard, and the shadow of a figure behind the glass beside the white door could be seen, though Elisabeth couldn't make out any discerning features in the dim lighting within the home. The door swung open seconds later, revealing a woman in her forties, a grey sweater peeking out from beneath a black apron, tea-towel in hand. She looked up at Ms. Porter in confusion, blowing hair from her eyes, before her gaze wandered over to the two children lining up on her porch and immediately her expression lit up.

"You're from the agency?"

Ms. Porter nodded. "May we come in?"

The woman looked back inside her home, stepping back as she opened the door a little wider. Ms. Porter breezed through the front door, offering the woman a false smile as Alexander and Elisabeth followed her inside.

"Is your husband home, Mrs. Uley?"

"I'll… go get him." She scurried off down the hall and into another room, where two voices could be heard conversing quietly, urgently. A moment later she came back, followed by a much larger male, bare feet slapping against polished hardwood floors. Despite his large size and grim face, his eyes were alight with joy, as were his wife's. They seemed antsy, unable to stand still or maintain eye contact with Ms. Porter. They kept glancing over at Alex and at Elisabeth, flashing smiles and waving happily at the toddler. They were a whirlwind of excitement and Elisabeth couldn't understand it.

"Ms. Porter," the caseworker introduced herself, shaking hands with the couple, "I'm the one you talked to on the phone."

The two nodded, turning expectantly to face Elisabeth, eyes bright and smiles wide, as if waiting for her to say something earth-shattering.

She was sorry to disappoint. "Um, Elisabeth. And my brother, Alexander." The sweeping gesture she offered towards the shy toddler, currently peering around her calves up at the two strangers, was met with sighs of awe as the couple turned to stare into his curious gaze.

"He's very cute," the woman said, smiling softly at the small boy. "I'm Emily, and this is my husband, Sam."

Elisabeth nodded, frowning as she became aware of the tiny steps the two had taken towards her, the daze Emily seemed to be in as she watched the child carefully, eyes shining with unshed tears. Her hands were clasped beneath her scarred chin, head tilted as she watched this tiny human as if he were the most precious thing in the world. Her shuffling forwards seemed almost involuntarily, her reaching for him almost instinctive. Elisabeth stepped backwards, holding her hand out protectively in front of the younger child to keep him behind her, frowning.

It was enough to snap Mrs. Uley out of whatever trance she had been in. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean…" She trailed off awkwardly, grateful when the oven timer went off. "Would you excuse me?" she asked apologetically. "I was cooking dinner before you came."

"It's a bit early for dinner, don't you think?"

"Elisabeth!" Ms. Porter chastised.

"Oh, no, it's alright. We were expecting guests for dinner, so I had to start cooking earlier, but I don't think they're coming anymore," Emily explained, laughing almost awkwardly as she looked over at her husband. "Right, Sam?"

"Yeah."

"Maybe you should call them, just to make sure everything's okay?"

Her husband nodded, pressed his lips together into something that might have passed for a smile, and left the room quickly.

Emily giggled as she watched him leave, shook her head and rolled her eyes as she looked over at the group standing in the entrance of her home. "Now that it's just us," she said, leaning over her shiny white kitchen counter with a smile, "how about some coffee?"


	6. Chapter 6

**Slaves to the Spirits**

 **Chapter Six**

* * *

The Uley house was something of a tragedy, it seemed. It became obvious not because of some heart-to-heart at the dining table, but revealed itself in the walls, the floorboards, appeared out of the fireplace with a puff of charcoal like a magician just before he appears before a crowd, some spirit wishing to make itself known. Something that could not be seen, but was felt. Some bareness, the stench of suffering emanating from the rugs, a stiffness. It seemed the same throughout the entirety of the house, walls painted a neutral grey to cover some deep secret only the house knew, classic contemporary furniture and cheap little Christmas decorations only adding to Elisabeth's suspicion - the only one who seemed to notice that something was awry. Of course, she could hardly expect Alex to notice anything, being so young, and she was sure Ms. Porter just didn't care enough about her wellbeing to hesitate in handing her over into the care of a seemingly kind couple, eager to start their family. The ones with the kind faces always turned out to be the most dangerous, Elisabeth knew that.

"It's a lovely home." A lie. Elisabeth had no problems with lying. She did it all the time. "I like the open space."

"Sam and I bought it a few years ago. It was a new development," Emily said, placing a plate of cookies she had brought out from her kitchen on the dining table. "We have a friend a couple of hours away who just begged us to do the interior design. I'll admit, I didn't really like the grey tones - I thought it looked a bit dull - but it's grown on me. We won't tell her that she was right though," she laughed, "it wouldn't be good for her ego."

"It must have cost a lot," Ms. Porter noted, "especially for the coastal view."

"We live in a small town. Not many people are looking to move out here. But we did have to save for a little while." Emily pulled out a chair, taking a seat opposite Ms. Porter as she smiled politely. "Of course, my new job helped a lot. Dentistry."

"Ah." Ms. Porter nodded in approval. "You've done well, for such a young couple."

She laughed. "You don't need to say that, we both know I'm not all that young anymore." She shrugged, sipped her coffee. "I didn't have a family to raise so I focused on my career instead."

"And look how well it paid off!" she exclaimed, glancing around the room as if she were planning to leap up and steal the paintings from the walls.

"Hmm," Emily hummed, looking away. "I'm sure Sam should be coming back soon."

The drumming of fingernails against the side of her mug quickly became irritating, however, and Elisabeth took the time to study the woman the system had deemed suitable for her brother and herself in the awkward silence that ensued. Mrs. Uley sat up straight, the way a young girl would sit when conversing with a school teacher. Attentive, respectful, but ultimately wanting to leave. Her eyes were bright, though she kept her lips pressed together firmly. Her hair was secured with a clip at the back of her head, black strands pulled back to reveal the three long jagged lines running down one side of her kind face. She wondered what had happened.

Elisabeth watched as her gaze fluttered nervously, never settling on any particular thing or person, but rather cycling through what was within seeing distance. Her hands, Ms. Porter, the vase at the centre of the table, Alexander, a mirror hanging on the wall, Elisabeth. Her mug of coffee was cradled in her hands, as if she needed the distraction to keep herself from wringing them, but for the most part didn't drink from it.

Moments later Sam entered the room, still barefoot, and it seemed strange now to see a man like him wandering so casually into such an elegant room. It wasn't hard to imagine this to be the room petty neighbourhood gossip would occur in, over tea and biscuits and the titterring little laughs of women feasting on drama. He and his wife didn't fit together, or maybe they just didn't really fit this house. While she was poised, though nervous like a little girl at heart, he was gruff and seemed out of place amongst the neutral tones and floral displays.

"Sorry," he said as he took his place beside his wife, reaching over to swoop up her hands in his, running his thumb over the back of it. Elisabeth was curious as to what had happened to their friends, why he was on the phone for so long, but the daggers Ms. Porter seemed to be sending towards her kept her from asking. Sam didn't volunteer any information either.

"We were just starting to think you would never come back," Ms. Porter joked, but she was the only one to laugh, her smile too wide and her laughter too fake.

His gaze hardened, dark eyes steadily trained on her. "Never," he assured, his tone firm and jaw clenched. Elisabeth had the impression that perhaps Mr. Uley didn't care much for her caseworker, and she would be lying if she said she wasn't delighted to have someone else finally see through her as easily as she could.

"Like a captain? Never abandons ship?" She laughed at that as if it were funny, leaning back in her chair as she watched Alexander help himself to the plate of cookies, rocking dangerously on the chair as he struggled to reach for them.

Elisabeth almost expected her to suddenly lean forwards in her seat, to call Sam a stupid, stupid man in that sharp tone that had grown so familiar. She could remember similar sentiments being shouted at her before. She didn't though, but it did little to help in the matter. From the clenched fists resting on the table, knuckles almost white where bone pressed against skin, his anger was obvious. Emily leaned over to mutter something by his ear and he turned his attention to Elisabeth. He relaxed his shoulders, unfurled his fists, eyes flickering down to the steaming coffee in front of him. Black. No sugar. He pressed his lips together much like he had before, the smile almost sad, and took a big gulp.

He was going to be a problem, Elisabeth knew.

"I brought their files," Ms. Porter alerted, reaching for the thick manila folder she had tossed so carelessly on the tabletop as if it were her own home, "although I must warn you, they both look a lot worse on paper."

"I'm sure they're lovely children," Mrs. Uley said.

"They dress up well, I know, but anything can be tempting in the right lighting and from the right angle." Ms. Porter drummed her fingers on the folder, placing her elbows on the table as she leaned forwards to whisper, "Children from these programs are often… different from other children."

Emily laughed, looking over to her husband's face, amused. "Neither of us expect parenthood to be even close to easy. We just feel so blessed to have the chance to be parents."

Ms. Porter forced her lips into a polite smile. "Yes," she breathed, "of course it is a wonderful opportunity to do good for these poor unfortunate souls, but it wouldn't be reasonable to continue any further without having this discussion."

"Isn't the whole point of the foster and adoption system to give children a second chance?" Mrs. Uley reached for a cookie from the platter, choc-chip, smirking across at her husband. "How are they supposed to have a second chance when you insist that the past follows them everywhere?"

Ms. Porter's left eyebrow twitched as she blinked in disbelief, before she opened the folder and spread out the documents within over the table. She hadn't heard the word 'no' many times before, didn't understand what the word meant unless it tumbled from her own dry lips. "You must understand that many of our children are sensitive," she said, flipping through pages in search of something - an example, perhaps that time Elisabeth had swung at Jeremy for calling her brother a bastard. She'd felt his nose give beneath her fist. Felt good. She'd only wished he'd had another nose, so she could have done it again before Mason dragged her away. Sister Constance had forced her to sit in her office for what seemed like years, silent, waiting for an excuse. Elisabeth was only too willing to offer one up.

"Sensitive?"

"Volatile, explosive, riddled with deep psychological trauma that simply cannot be-"

"I won't sit here and listen to anymore of this," Mrs. Uley said with a sigh, plucking up her cup in her hands. "And I won't let you speak about these children as if they don't exist - they're sitting right next to you. I really don't want to hear about any of this right now."

"I see." The corner of the caseworker's mouth twitched, a tiny spasm, as her eyelids fluttered. "Perhaps now is not the best time for this conversation. Everything is still so new and shiny and precious." She smiled gently, stuffing the papers back into the folder and sliding it an inch closer to the couple. "I won't spoil this new maternal feeling for you. Should I leave the files with you to browse later?"

Dark eyes snapped over to rest on her face, smoothed out after what Elisabeth supposed must have been an expensive beauty regime and the help of a few surgeons, cold and sharp and piercing. Even though neither Elisabeth nor Alexander had been the subject of that harsh stare, they both found themselves stilling subconsciously, the nervous fumbling of Elisabeth and the taste-testing of the array of cookies by little Alex halted by the ice in Sam's eyes.

"No?" Ms. Porter asked, raising her eyebrows. "Very well. I'll have Sister Constance bring them with her when she comes by in a couple of weeks. By then, I'm sure you will have developed an interest in the tales of these children."

"We are interested," Sam asserted, "but I'd rather hear it from their mouths than yours."

Emily patted his hand, ignoring his outburst completely otherwise. "Is that standard procedure? How regularly will people from the institute be visiting?"

"Nervous, are we?" Ms. Porter asked.

"No. I just like for my house to be presentable and for me not to be wearing an apron when I have visitors."

Ms. Porter giggled, glancing to her left and right at the two children with something akin to affection in her eyes. "Well, these two darlings are a special case, close to our hearts," she said, voice tender and soft like a mother's lulling their child to sleep. "We want very much to see them in a loving home."

"I can't imagine anyone who wouldn't."

Ms. Porter ignored Emily's comment. "My dear Alex," she sighed, petting Alex's dark curls before turning to face Elisabeth, twirling a strand of lighter hair between her fingers, spinning gold with her own fingertips. "And my pretty little Elisabeth."

Emily nodded. "They are very sweet-looking children."

"Oh, you know nothing just yet, Mrs. Uley," Ms. Porter sneered. "Even the lethal nightshade berry tastes sweet, my dear, but it will still kill you."


	7. Chapter 7

**Slaves to the Spirits**

 **Chapter Seven**

* * *

Alexander cried when Ms. Porter left, the tiny little fool. Elisabeth couldn't understand why he was upset, watching her silver sedan reverse out of the driveway and disappear down the street. Her leaving seemed like something that deserved to be celebrated, not lamented, but trying to understand a toddler's brain was a difficult task ordinarily and trying to understand her brother's often seemed like some impossible feat, achievable only perhaps by psychics and maybe a few psychologists. It was irrelevant anyway, since he stopped crying only moments after the woman disappeared, seemingly stealing the memory of her from his mind as she left the neighbourhood.

"Why don't you hug him?"

Elisabeth frowned. "What?"

"Alexander," Emily said slowly. "He was crying. Why didn't you hug him?"

Elisabeth blinked, looked down, let out a huff of air in something akin to a laugh, too short to qualify, too humourless. "If I hugged him every time he cried," she said, but didn't finish the sentence, shaking her head instead. "Why didn't you?"

"He seems shy."

Elisabeth hummed, strolling around the front living room opposite the kitchen, ignoring the urge to glance across the kitchen counter and into the face of a stranger. "Your Christmas tree is very pretty," she noted, watching as all the lights changed colours in bright flashes. "It must have taken a long time to decorate."

"Maybe you and your brother would like to decorate it next year?"

Elisabeth sincerely doubted she would still be here come this time next year, but she figured saying it would be inappropriate and knew Ms. Porter would be mad if she had to drive back the same night to pick her up and bring her back to St. Emiliano's. "Don't think I don't love him," Elisabeth said instead, watching as her brother chased after a slowly-running Sam down the hall, too eager to appease the small boy, to earn a smile, a gurgle of laughter, the child's love. Watching the two interact, she decided instantly that she would not like it here.

"Of course you do," Emily smiled, sliding on a pair of oven mitts to retrieve the pie she had baked from the depths of the oven. "He's your brother."

That was half the problem. She was his sister, not his mother. She could never be his mother. "Yes, he is, Mrs. Uley. My only brother," she hummed.

Emily didn't detect the threat underlying her words. "I always feel so old when people call me that." She placed the pie on a cooling rack. "Call me Emily at least. I want us to be friends."

Friends. Elisabeth sat down at dinner later that night, thinking over that word. Friends. It was strange to think about the life the Uleys lived, imagined, desired. It all seemed to far from reality, like a dream floating away lazily on summer breezes and cool lake waters. Something impossible. Something so far from reality that it all seemed a little crazy, and she wondered briefly if she had fallen down the stairs and knocked her head on the banister, and this was all some hallucination she had dreamt up in the delirium induced by pain medication and the dark expanse of unconsciousness.

She would open her eyes to the cracked ceiling of St. Emiliano's medical ward - a place usually only occupied with by the younger children and those with runny noses and fevers - with a damp washcloth draped over her forehead, no longer cool, the paper thin sheets crumpled about her frame. She imagined waking up, brow twitching as she heard the dripping of a leaky faucet in a nearby bathroom, the hollow echo of water droplets filling a porcelain sink, Sister Constance's clucking about the halls outside, doors clicking shut quietly, and Sister Maria's rampage upon the boy's dormitories below, tearing up floorboards and tearing apart pillowcases in her rage.

 _You filthy, filthy boys - keeping things like this in the house, what were you thinking? God sees all, you know! He sees all of your disgusting acts!_

 _There was the sound of drawers slamming shut directly beneath Elisabeth on the floor below, something breaking, muffled speech. Then there was the sound of a door opening across the room she lied in, slowly, creaking on its hinges, and then the slow paced steps of another Sister's heels sounded upon the old groaning floorboards._

 _Are you awake, Elisabeth? It's Sister Theresa, the voice said. You took a fall, do you remember? The washcloth on her face was taken away for a brief moment. The sound of water being rung from fabric, dripping back into a basin of water. You gave that poor boy Mason quite the scare, she said. He came rushing in here crying that you had been taken before your time._

 _Heavy footsteps rushed around the room beneath Elisabeth's bed, followed by the sharp ringing sound of a slap across the cheek. The yelling was muffled, but she was able to decipher it when she concentrated: Oh, we must pray, we must pray! Come, get on your knees and pray to the good Lord that he might spare you all yet! There was a collective murmuring downstairs, the sound of a few dozen boys praying, lead by a Sister's fervent cries for forgiveness._

 _The bed creaked with Sister Theresa's weight as she leaned over her patient, dabbing at her face tenderly with the damp cloth. Forgive me for saying this, she murmured, but I do believe that boy is quite in love with you._

 _Elisabeth squinted her eyes open in the bright light, staring into the youthful face of Sister Theresa, her bright blue eyes, the little smile playing on her lips as she toyed with the idea of a romance beneath the roof of such a dim house, such a miserable dwelling, such an atrocious space._

 _In love with me? Elisabeth croaked._

 _Yes, Sister Theresa said and averted her gaze, looking up towards Elizabeth's hairline where she gingerly dabbed at her skin. Very much in love, I would say. Perhaps even helplessly so._

 _No, Elisabeth chuckled breathlessly as her eyes slid shut once more, Mason doesn't love me. He's-_

"More potatoes, Elisabeth?"

Her head snapped up as she gaped across the table, her confusion making its appearance on her face as her brow scrunched. Sam was staring at her, mashed potatoes in one hand, waiting almost expectantly.

"I'm sorry," Elisabeth mumbled, "I didn't quite hear you."

"Potatoes?" he repeated.

"Oh, no," she mumbled, and then chuckled, shaking her head. "No, thank you."

Sam shrugged, setting the potatoes down on the table after loading more onto his plate, before scooping up his cutlery, eager to cut into his steak.

Glancing quickly around the table, Elisabeth could see that nobody seemed to have noticed her trance. While Sam was tearing into his steak mercilessly, Emily was alternating between trying to get Alexander to eat pieces of vegetables and eating her own dinner before it went cold. Elisabeth frowned, staring down at her potatoes in confusion. A dream, surely. It must all be some strange wicked sort of dream she would wake up from in the morning.

It had to be.


	8. Chapter 8

**Slaves to the Spirits**

 **Chapter Eight**

* * *

It seemed strange to Elisabeth that she was able to see herself in the mirror. Standing in the upstairs bathroom, she splashed ice water on her face, rubbing tiredly at her eyes and studying the drops of water clinging to her skin. If this was all a dream, then shouldn't it have been impossible to see her reflection? She shook her head, deciding the thought wasn't worth worrying about, and patted her skin dry with a towel before heading back to the living room where the family had been gathered. Sam had insisted upon a 'family meeting' and Elisabeth was sure she had never heard anything so ridiculous in her life. She had only been there for a few hours, and they were already claiming the four of them made up a functioning family unit. They didn't, and Elisabeth dreaded the family game nights she knew they would insist upon, the board games and old movie marathons and God she hoped they wouldn't be the type for family outings. They treated it all like something shiny and new and undamaged, something perfect.

Elisabeth felt sick.

She sighed and walked slowly, careful not to disrupt the quietness of the house, back to the living room, freezing when she noticed the absence of two individuals. She still felt the phantom pressure wrapping around her legs though, despite the lack of the chubby toddler arms. "Where'd they go?"

Sam looked up at her as she entered, watching as her eyes swept the room quickly. "Alex fell asleep," he said. "Emily's putting him to bed."

Mrs. Uley had plucked him up and dragged him off into some dim corner of the house, it seemed, and Elisabeth refused to leave her brother with a stranger. "Which room is it?"

"Emily's got him. He's fine, Elisabeth."

Elisabeth shook her head. "I want to say goodnight to him."

"He's probably already asleep."

Elisabeth tugged at the sleeves of her shirt. "He won't be able to sleep if I don't say goodnight," she insisted. "Tell me where he is."

Sam looked at her strangely, brow furrowed, studying her, silent. Though he stared at her only for a short while, Elisabeth shifted uncomfortably, disliking the feeling of being looked through, being worked out. It reminded her of those awful eyes back in Seattle, ice blue and set behind thin-rimmed glasses, and that cramped office she was forced to sit in each week. The smell of somebody else's lunch, the scratching sound of a pencil moving across paper-

 _How are you today, Elisabeth?_

 _An empty question, and Elisabeth felt her temper flare at it. What was the point in small talk, in coming here, in talking to a man like him? He was just like the rest of them, pretending to know more than he did, pretending he was better than he was. She rolled her eyes, snorted._

 _Ah, he laughed, not in a good mood? The doctor stood, walking to a cabinet on the back wall. I can help you with that, he said, all you have to do is ask._

 _What else had she expected? Her kissing the floor he walked upon, begging him to save her, to fix her, to help her. She had wanted a normal life, but he would only give it to her if she made him feel like he was someone important, someone people relied upon._

 _He turned around and faced her with a bottle of red wine and two glasses, poured out two drinks. He walked back around to the front of the desk, stood in front of her, held out the glass. I can fix it for you, he said slowly, if you promise not to tell anyone. His smile was something from a nightmare. The next time she came in, his lip was cut and the swelling around his left eye still hadn't gone down._

Without a real desire to do so, Elisabeth raised her hand a little to look down at her knuckles. Examining the smooth skin, the healed flesh, she tried to forget how her hand looked when bruised, cut up, swollen. She tried not to remember the feeling in her gut afterwards, how she couldn't look in a mirror for weeks without seeing somebody else's face. She found it too difficult.

"Elisabeth?" Sam called out, and she looked up to see him standing now, staring at her, his eyes revealing some emotion she had long since forgotten.

She swallowed, glanced around the room. "Where… where's Alex?" she repeated. "I have to see him. I have to or he'll cry," she said. "I hate when he cries. But it's not his fault - he's just lonely and he gets scared and he misses his mother and I- and I-"

"Elisabeth," he said sternly, stepping forwards. "Everything's fine. He's fine." A hand rested on her shoulder. She tried her best not to flinch.

"The last time he saw her," she continued, looking away from Sam's lowered brow, the lines etched in his forehead. She raised a shaky hand to her forehead, eyes gone distant, peering into something that seemed like an alternate universe, another life, someplace so far from here. "The last time…"

"Sit down. Sit down over there." He took her by the elbow, began to tug her towards an armchair.

Elisabeth flung off his grip, freezing when he looked down at her, gulping. "Sorry, Mr. Uley," she muttered, taking a deep breath and shaking off the strange feeling of floating. She took another breath, tipped her chin up. She smiled at him. "I don't know what came over me. I'm fine now."

He opened his mouth, about to say something, when the distant sound of screaming reached their ears and the two whipped their heads around to stare out into the darkness. She was almost glad. She would welcome any distraction, in that moment. It would buy her time to calm down. She focused on breathing deeply as she stared out the window. Straining to see in the dark, Elisabeth took a few steps closer to the windows, peering outside in the hopes of catching sight of something - a group of excited teens wandering around maybe, or a couple playfully fighting as they walked home.

"Get away from the windows," Sam growled, yanking her back by the arm.

"I'm sure it's nothing," she said. "Things like this happen all the time in Seattle. It's probably just some drunk." She turned to look at him, expecting his expression to be less tense, to see him agree with her and forget it ever even happened. Instead, she was met with a clenched jaw, sharp eyes sweeping through the darkness as if he could see through the windows, rigid shoulders and something almost animalistic about his stance.

"Why don't you go say goodnight to Alexander?" he suggested, stepping closer to the front door.

Elisabeth frowned as she saw him reaching for the door. "You're not seriously going out there, are you? I told you it's nothing."

Sam paused, his hand hovering over the lock. "Stay here," he warned, twisting the door handle.

Elisabeth rolled her eyes, moving closer towards him. "Honestly," she sighed, "how can you be scared of a drunk? They probably tripped and fell in a pothole."

"Stay. Here."

"I go wherever I want," she said. "You can't stop me. Unless you don't think it's a drunk?"

Sam huffed, turning around quickly. "I told you to stay!"

"I'm not a dog."

"Why can't you just-"

"Sam!" A force pushed against the door, knocking it open. Mr. Uley only just moved back in time to avoid being hit by it as it swung open quickly, smacking against the wall behind it with a loud bang.

"Watch it!" Sam roared at the two home intruders, eyes fiery as he glared at each of them, no doubt mourning the damaged wall in his new home.

"Sorry." The girl shrugged, her face unapologetic as she smirked up at Mr. Uley, eyes welcoming the rage which seemed to be consuming him. She wanted to fight, it seemed, dressed in a dingy tank top and denim shorts, barefoot, with her hair only just brushing her shoulders. It didn't seem like the appropriate attire for a home visit nor a brawl. "As much as I love ruining your paint," she said, "there's a breach on the-" She froze as her eyes flickered over to Elisabeth, who was watching the interaction curiously.

"Is she the one you were telling us about?" the boy asked, wearing a smile that suggested he was much less annoyed by her presence than his companion, who was currently glaring at the girl. Elisabeth shrank under the attention, the appraisal of her appearance by two strangers in the home of even more strangers, and avoided eye contact, curved her shoulders in the hopes of suddenly disappearing from sight.

"We can make introductions another time," the girl sighed, shifting her weight, unsettled. "We need to-"

The boy smiled, ignoring his accomplice, realising that Sam was not going to introduce them. "I'm Seth."

"We don't have time for this! We need to go," the girl grumbled. "Tell him, Sam."

Seth rolled his eyes. He reached out a large hand for Elisabeth to shake. "Don't mind my sister, Leah. She's a little grumpy, but it's too late for refunds," he laughed, his eyes darting over to glare sharply at said sibling. "W-"

It was like an electric shock zipping up his arm, something that started as the tiniest of sparks in his palm igniting something primal deep within as it crept up his veins. Some intrusion in his body, making itself home in the muscle of his heart, burrowing inside and settling in there, infiltrating his bloodstream with its warmth.

He frowned, looking down at his hand, large and awkward, wrapped around hers. There was something strange about her, something not right. He looked up into her face, expecting to be met with something undead or unnatural.

He choked.

His joints locked and he felt like he had been shot, unable to move or scream or say a damn thing. She was the prettiest girl he had seen in his life, though she wasn't someone he would have ordinarily gone for - not that he really went after girls, being so busy with making sure La Push's population wasn't snacked on by Cold Ones. But there was something that seemed almost like a lie sitting upon her face, something not quite sweet about the way she was staring up at him, tall and a bit too skinny, with hair the colour of the sun.

Leah smacked him over the head and he immediately let go of Elisabeth's hand, eyes wide as he looked over at her in a panic, almost as if waking up suddenly from a deep sleep, before his gaze returned to Elisabeth.

"You'll have to forgive my idiot brother," she said. "He's a little annoying, but he means well."

Seth couldn't bring himself to look away from Elisabeth in order to glare at his sister.

"Now, as much as I find this all absolutely _hilarious_ ," Leah sighed, stepping back towards the door, "we have some issues we need to deal with right now. So, if you'll excuse us." She smiled, grabbed her brother by the ear and hauled him out the front door despite his protests.

Sam huffed, scratching his eyebrow, before heading towards the door to follow them out.

"Your friends are weird," Elisabeth said, trying to listen in on the urgent whispering out on the porch.

"Go find your brother. His room is at the end of the hall." He pulled the door shut.

Elisabeth rushed upstairs, trying to forget the whole exchange.


	9. Chapter 9

**Slaves to the Spirits**

 **Chapter Nine**

* * *

The door was half open, the warm glow of a floor lamp emphasising a reddish hue in the polished walnut floorboards, shadows dancing along the wall inside as the light was disrupted by movement. Elisabeth rapped her knuckles against the surface of the door - out of habit, not respect - and glided into the room.

"Elisabeth," Emily greeted, smiling in the dim lighting as she stood by the window. She was rearranging a line of stuffed toys sitting on the windowsill: a yellow lion, a brown dog, a cow with a red kerchief tied around its neck. She nodded back at Alexander's sleeping form, tucked in his new bed. "It must have been a tiring day for him."

Elisabeth hummed and came over to peer into her brother's face, eager to check on him before anything else. When she was met with his blank face, unmarked, she was satisfied to then look about his new room. It was standard enough, though a lot more than what he was used to. The walls were painted blue, baby blue, the standard blue of a nursery, and the furniture was all white.

"I was just about to come back down," Emily whispered, "but he looked so sweet sleeping."

"Sam left anyway."

Emily hummed. "Do you think he would like it?" she asked, voice quiet, wringing her hands. "The room, I mean."

"I'm not Alex."

"You're his sister though. Surely he tells you what he likes."

"Alex…" Elisabeth began slowly. "He doesn't say much."

Emily didn't seem to notice the tone to her voice, the surging instinct to protect her brother at all costs, not just from physical harm but from judgement. "I noticed he was rather quiet today," she said. "Shouldn't he speak more for his age?"

Elisabeth gritted her teeth. "He saw a doctor. He said it was fine."

Emily hummed quietly, as if thinking to herself, before moving towards a plush chair sitting in the corner of the room. She picked up a stuffed bear from the seat, plucked at its sweater. "Did you see the toys we got for him, over by the window?"

"They're very cute."

"We didn't know what animals he liked," Emily rushed, "so we just bought some of every kind. And books too."

"Alex can't read."

Emily laughed quietly, breathily. "All children like picture books," she said breezily, "but we just didn't know his favourites, so we just ended up getting a whole bunch of them."

It seemed a lot like Emily was just saying these things, not to hear Elisabeth's response, but just to say them. Nervous, Elisabeth might have thought, but she knew she was acting this way because she just wanted to be worshipped, told that the two were very grateful for her opening up her home. She could do anything to them, and she would still be loved for her sacrifice, her selflessness, her devotion.

Mrs. Uley let out an odd little huff, sitting in the seat with a grace that didn't match her apparent frustrations. Maybe she was annoyed that Elisabeth had not yet fallen to her knees before her, thanked her and kissed her slippered feet. She was agitated that things weren't going the way she had wanted them to, and Elisabeth was determined to make sure it would stay that way.

"I just," Emily paused, taking a deep breath, letting it out slowly. She blinked, focused on something in the corner of the room. "I just wanted it all to be perfect, you know?"

"I'm sure he likes it all very much," she said carefully, "whether he says so or not."

She nodded, her eyes fleeing from Elisabeth's, fluttering about the room as if caged in and desperate for escape, like some truth had been said that she couldn't bring herself to face. "You're right," she said, voice flat, and went back to plucking at the sweater on the tan bear in her hands. "Does he like blue? Do you know?"

"He likes a lot of colours," Elisabeth answered, disliking the look of hope gleaming in her eyes and looking away quickly. She paced around the room, picking up and studying stuffed toys, placing them back carefully, running her finger over the spines of the books on the shelf.

"Does he have a favourite though?"

"Green."

Some unknown expression took form on Emily's face. Was it devastation or awe? Learning about this small and perfect human, was she upset for what she didn't know or amazed by the secrets hidden away in his mind?

Elisabeth decided that she didn't really care either way.

"You love him already, don't you?" she asked, feeling as though she was being robbed of something.

Emily looked right at her, didn't flinch, unaware of her feelings. "My husband and I…" she began, but then shook her head as if she had thought better of the words, the sentence she had started but not finished.

Elisabeth remained silent for some time, watching her. It was an odd feeling she got when she studied her face and though her forehead didn't scrunch like Alex's did, and she didn't do that thing where she looked off into the distance, Elisabeth knew that there was something going on in her mind. Something sinister. Her eyes didn't travel back into some painful time, off into another place, another moment. They stared back into Elisabeth's, dark and hollow, and she watched, unmoved, as they teared up.

"This," she whispered, "used to be a nursery."

Elisabeth beat down the sudden wave of self-hatred, preferring to believe that she wasn't the awful, horrible, terrible human being her conscience liked to make her out to be. She swallowed, pressing her lips together, uncertain of what to say.

"It was supposed to be our son's room," she continued, so softly Elisabeth almost thought she wasn't really saying anything and was just moving her lips, mouthing the words silently to herself like one might a prayer. "We were so sure, so certain it was going to happen."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." She waved off her apology, shaking her head. "I know you don't want me to think of it like this, but Alexander… he's like the son we couldn't have."

Translation: Alexander was their miracle, and Elisabeth the promotional extra they didn't really want.

Elisabeth looked away, wandered over to the cot, stared down at her brother as he slept peacefully. She tucked the blankets tighter around him. "I'm glad you're happy, Mrs. Uley."

There was the sound of fabric shifting, light footsteps over the floor. "Can I hug you?" she asked hesitantly from behind the girl. "Do you mind?"

Elisabeth wanted to refuse. She wanted to pick up her brother and storm out of that house and run away somewhere they would never be found. But she didn't. She turned around and it was the look in the older woman's eyes that stopped her, that demanded she wrapped her arms around the stranger in an awkward embrace. Hugging was something that had grown distant, foreign, like a face she hadn't seen in years, a dance she had forgotten the steps to. Something she didn't remember.

"Oh, it's so good to have another girl in the house," she sighed by her ear. "We already think of you both as family."

Elisabeth patted her back awkwardly, her arms stiff. When Emily got the hint and pulled back, she was in tears. Elisabeth stood motionlessly as she watched the woman cry, despising her for it. How could she cry? She didn't deserve to cry. She wasn't entitled to sorrow, didn't know it, didn't know suffering. Sadness was a trial, crying the reward for enduring the pain.

And what did she know of pain, sitting in her stupid pretty house, happily married, with a job she probably loved?

Mrs. Uley smiled softly, swiping at the salty tears which had trailed down her cheeks, a breath of air mimicking a short chuckle, but there was no joy in the sound. "God, I must look like a mess."

Elisabeth shook her head. "You look lovely," she said, but even she could see the smeared mascara running down her cheeks in the dim lighting.


	10. Chapter 10

**Slaves to the Spirits**

 **Chapter Ten**

* * *

Elisabeth didn't hear Sam come back home. She didn't hear the door unlock or heavy boots along the floorboards, up the stairs, down the hall. But she did hear a shower start up sometime around midnight, a door closing sometime after the water stopped, and then nothing. She waited twenty minutes to be sure, before slipping out of her bed and sliding onto the floor. She wasn't sure what she had intended to do, but a part of her demanded that she ran into Alex's room and scooped him up, packed up the luggage Emily had helped put away in his closet, snuck out through a window just before sunrise. But that, like many things Elisabeth wanted, was an impossibility. She knew she would never do it.

She moved about in the dark silently, creeping over the floorboards to the bags she was yet to unpack. She liked to think the task wasn't completed not because of laziness, but because she knew that she would flee this time, and she would be ready whenever the opportunity presented itself. She unzipped the duffel bag slowly, reaching in blindly. There was a lighter in there, somewhere, and a packet of cigarettes - neither of which were hers. She'd taken them from Ms. Porter's purse when she wasn't looking, not because she wanted to smoke - she had, once, but she'd hated it - but because it was something to do.

Her fingers touched something unfamiliar. She frowned, pulled it out and held it in the light.

A letter. Another one.

Her heart was in her throat.

A gentle knock on the door sent her into a flurry, though it wasn't the heavy thundering against wood she might have expected elsewhere. She dove onto the mattress and shoved the letter under her pillow. Forcing herself to breathe deeply despite her racing heart, she closed her eyes. The door creaked open.

 _Crap_.

A quiet snort of laughter. "I know you're awake."

Elisabeth kept her eyes shut, ignoring the itch in her cheek, the uncomfortable way she was laying. She tried her best not to flinch when she heard footsteps shuffling into the room, a huff, and then a voice much closer to her face.

"Stop pretending," it demanded, voice muffled, like someone was speaking through fabric or a wall. "You really don't have a future in acting, I'm afraid."

Slowly, she opened her eyes, trying her best to focus on the figure standing in the dark some distance away, but finding herself unable to see the features of the person standing before her.

"Good," it said, and Elisabeth had the impression that they were moving in the darkness, dressed in black clothes which allowed them to melt into the background. "I hate playing pretend."

Elisabeth felt her blood run cold as she realised it was a stranger, not Emily or Sam or one of those others who had visited the house. This was someone she didn't know, someone the Uleys didn't know, someone who wasn't supposed to be here.

She sat up quickly. "Who are you?"

"Do you really want to know?" Elisabeth heard them step closer, sensed a limb moving in the darkness up towards where she suspected a face was. The intruder kept creeping forwards, soundlessly, until the mattress was dipping with an additional weight and Elisabeth was sitting beside the large and imposing figure. In the darkness, it was difficult to make out where the black cotton of their clothing ended and the inky darkness of night began. "Are you sure?"

She didn't answer, but watched with wide eyes as limbs moved in the dark. There was maybe half an inch of skin revealed to her as the stranger pulled the mask back slowly, teasingly, as if it were some perverse show. Just the skin by the jaw, sweaty and pale as if he was fevered, sick. And then there was a taunting laugh and the mask was back in place, black plastic covering what had been exposed.

"Now, where's the fun in that?" he muttered. He moved in the darkness, fabric rustling, before Elisabeth caught sight of something shiny and reflective in the grasp of his gloved hands. "I love a good mystery."

Elisabeth felt the cold metal against her face, tracing the shape of her jaw carefully. She swallowed, limbs locking, wishing she had screamed earlier, when he wasn't so close, when she couldn't smell the spiciness of his cologne, when he was further away and she would have had the chance to run.

She raised her chin, eager to contradict the fear that she was sure was evident on her face. "You're here to kill me," she said. "Do it then."

"Kill you?" the man laughed, the knife flicking off of her chin. He tilted his head and leaned back, and the springs of the mattress groaned with the shifting weight. "Oh, you pretty little _idiot_ ," he crooned, "I'm not here to kill you."

"Then-"

"No, this is a warning," he muttered, a gloved hand coming up to rest on her cheek gently. His thumb rubbed at the skin below her eye as he leaned closer to her. "A reminder not to fuck it up," he breathed, "or else my next visit might not be so pleasant." He nodded towards the pillow she had shoved the paper under. "Says so in that letter, doesn't it? They warned you I was coming. They've been warning you for weeks. You know what you have to do."

He was right. She knew. And she knew what would happen if she didn't.

They wanted blood.

He was gone before Elisabeth could ask questions, but even in his absence she was unable to sleep, haunted by his voice and the feeling of his hands on her, images of his knife slicing through the delicate skin of her throat. She laid there, watching as the darkness turned to light, greeting the cold rays of sunrise as they entered her room, hoping her visitor never came back.


	11. Chapter 11

**Slaves to the Spirits**

 **Chapter Eleven**

* * *

"Sleep well?" Sam asked as Elisabeth came down the stairs in the morning. From the dark circles hanging beneath her eyes and the puffiness of her skin, it wasn't a question that needed answering. He asked it regardless, having heard noises from her room the night before, and detecting the smell of a man's cologne just outside her door he was unable to otherwise account for - the girl had been sneaking someone in, it seemed, and he would have none of that.

She nodded, yawned, looked over at Alex who was busy shoving pancakes in his mouth. Sam looked pointedly at his wife who rolled her eyes and continued to fry bacon.

"You look a little tired this morning," Emily noted. "Do you-"

"This is my house, Elisabeth," Sam interjected. "I hope you will respect it."

Elisabeth frowned at the older man and noted the annoyance lurking in his dark eyes. "Have I done something?" She raised her eyebrows. "That family meeting or whatever was so boring. I zoned out a couple of times and didn't hear all of your ridiculous little rules."

Sam scoffed. " _Done_ something?" he asked incredulously. "I don't know, _have_ you?"

"Sam!" Emily chided.

"Or did _he_ do something?" he asked, narrowing his eyes. "Because I don't know what business you have with inviting boys into your room, into my house, after midnight!"

"Oh, him?" Elisabeth smirked. She floated over to the kitchen and plucked up an apple from the fruit basket. She polished it against her shirt and bit into the fruit. "He's nobody, really."

Sam stood quickly, his chair rocking back precariously onto its back legs with the forceful motion. "What were you thinking, inviting some guy into your bed? Your brother was in the next room!"

She wanted to say that she hadn't exactly invited anyone in, but instead scoffed. "I know where my brother was," she said, "but where were you last night?"

"Sam, please," Emily begged, rushing over to stand beside him. She pushed against his chest as he moved closer, obviously not interested in being the bigger person or whatever they called that crap.

Sam continued forwards as if Emily's strength was comparable to that of a child's. "That's none of your business!" His nostrils flared and he stopped in front of Elisabeth, eyes narrowed, enraged.

"I think it's definitely my business," she said. "If I have to live with you, I'd like to know that you're not some creepy murderer by night. I'd like to find some _comfort_ ," Elisabeth sneered, "in this very bleak and difficult time."

"This is about you," he growled, ignoring his wife's pleas to calm down, "not me. So why don't you explain yourself and stop sticking your nose in places it doesn't belong."

"Is that a warning, Mr. Uley?"

"Elisabeth," he barked, "you have five seconds to explain your behaviour."

"Oh no, you're going to count to five," Elisabeth said dryly. "What a weak threat. I'm almost disappointed."

"If you act like a child then you can expect to be treated like one," he hissed. "I won't let you disrespect me in my own home."

"Sam, you need to leave," Emily insisted, pulling on his arm without result in some attempt to remove him from the room. "Let's go outside," she suggested. "Let's go take a nice deep breath of fresh air and relax."

Elisabeth screwed up her nose, stepping closer to him. "Or what?" she challenged. "You'll send me to the corner? Oh, I'm just terrified."

"Elisabeth, why don't you go see if there's something on TV for Alexander to watch?" Emily said, trying to dissolve the tension, glancing over at the toddler who was watching the interaction, bug-eyed, before redirecting her attention to her husband. "Sam, babe, you're standing too close to her. Let's go outside. Come on."

He began to spasm, it seemed to Elisabeth, beginning as something of a twitch in his fingers and spreading quickly up his arms, before his whole body was convulsing. He stood stiffly, trying to keep his shoulders from jerking, attempting to repress it as his nostrils flared and he breathed deeply and rapidly.

Suddenly, Elisabeth felt as though she had done something awful.

Emily rushed forwards to stand in front of her husband, taking his face in her hands and turning his head towards her. "You need to leave," she asserted, voice firm when she glanced back at Elisabeth. "Take Alex and go."

Elisabeth shook her head, shuffling backwards, out of the way. Her back knocked into the counter, sent something crashing to the floor as she knocked it off the bench. She heard it shatter by her feet. "You need to call an ambulance, Mrs. Uley," she muttered, swallowing, unable to pull her eyes away from Sam's face, his terrified eyes, the shaking hands he was trying to clutch at his wife's shoulders with. "He's seizuring. You need to-"

"Get out!" Emily screamed urgently, her voice raw and cracking but it still didn't force Elisabeth into action. Instead she stood there dumbly, watching with the kind of regret one only feels after doing something horrible. It was deep and cutting and the panicked thought that she had just killed a man did not evade her.

"The hospital," she mumbled quietly. "He has to go to the hospital."

The strong chemical smell assaulted her senses, the smell of bland hospital food and the reek of death and illness they tried to hide with antiseptic. The low hum of conversation, quiet, mournful. Crying somewhere nearby, and staff being called to one of the rooms over the static of the intercom.

 _It smells like shit, Mason groaned, tipping his head back to stare at the tiled ceiling as he trudged along behind Sister Constance. He dragged his feet across the linoleum, huffed loudly every few seconds, kept making faces at Elisabeth to show how much he hated everything about this._

 _Sister Constance tutted, black heels tapping on the tiles as she navigated the halls, and Elisabeth scrambled to keep up with her. It smells like misfortune, she corrected. This is the terminal ward, a place for those without hope. And where there is suffering, there is the possibility for healing._

 _As she spoke, two nurses and a doctor rushed past them, turning the corners of the corridor quickly and disappearing behind a heavy door. Mason made a face, sent a look to Elisabeth, but she ignored it. She knew he wanted to run off, that he was suggesting the two hide somewhere to get out of it, but there was no point in avoiding punishment. Scampering off somewhere would only make it worse._

 _He rolled his eyes, huffed loudly, blowing strands of orange hair from his face. I don't give a crap, he said. I'm not a doctor, in case you forgot._

 _God forgives those who repent, Sister Constance said, ignoring Mason's language. She paused in the middle of the hall, turned to face him, smiling gently. I'm sure you understand now why you are here._

 _Community service, he sighed. How fun._

 _Sister Constance held his cheek in her hand, the look in her eyes that of a mother staring into her son's face, wondering what happened to the sweet boy she remembered him to once be._

 _Mason stared back, screwing up his face in confusion and discomfort. His eye was twitching, his focus darting between the two emeralds set in the older woman's face, searching for something in the depths of her gaze. His lips twisted around a name, a word he wouldn't allow himself to utter, his frown deepening as he tried to stuff it back down his throat. He sobbed, his face burning crimson, and he pulled away sharply from the older woman's affection._

 _His lip curled up into some expression Elisabeth could only describe as animalistic. Don't touch me. Don't you dare fucking touch me!_

 _Sister Constance pressed her lips together into a pitying smile. May you find hope here, she whispered. Mason's gaze softened, he leaned back, a breath of air leaving his lungs quickly as if he had been hit in the gut. And then Sister Constance was turning on her heel, the squeak of her shoes on the tiles sickening, guiding Elisabeth away._

 _Mason was left there, in the terminal ward, and Elisabeth felt his stare digging into her spine the whole way down the corridor._

Elisabeth didn't know what happened to him, after she left. She knew that he read for hours to the sick children, all their favourites, until his voice was hoarse and his eyelids were drooping and it was after visiting hours when he was kicked out by a nurse. He said his throat hurt from talking too much, said the kids were bratty and demanded he read every damn book they owned, but Elisabeth suspected he had been crying when they met up again outside the hospital, eyes tinged red, watery. It didn't matter either way. He wouldn't stop fighting with the other boys and lighting fires. He told her once that he didn't think he had a soul. And Elisabeth could remember the first time he'd stolen the wine from the church. He had poured some out into a metal canister, watered down the church wine a bit so it would go unnoticed. He drank it and complained to her that it wasn't enough to even make him dizzy, said he needed to be drunk, and every Sunday since he had stolen just a little to add to his bottle. He laughed about it, but his eyes always looked pained and even though the Sisters never found out, he never-

Elisabeth jumped, gasped as she felt fingers latch around her wrist. Her eyes darted down to see tan fingers locked around the joint, and then up into searching brown eyes.

"Hey," Seth greeted, his face serious and all sharp lines. "Just me."

Elisabeth frowned, looking past him and down the hall to see a trembling Sam being lead out through the backdoor by two large men, Emily peering out anxiously through a window in the hall, Alexander held in her arms as he bawled. Elisabeth felt the need to go over there, to take him from her and storm out of the house, to run away from the mess that had become her life, but she repressed it. What good would it do? Everything would just end up messier, worse, and then Ms. Porter would be really mad and Alex would cry more and she-

"You don't look so good," Seth observed.

Elisabeth looked back at him, noting that the childish roundness she had remembered seeing in his face the night before had disappeared and been replaced by a strength, brown eyes grounding and steady as he met her dazed stare. There was something about him that unsettled her.

"You want to go get some fresh air?"

Elisabeth hesitated, not because she didn't long to be outside of the suffocating walls of the house, but because she suspected that something lurked beneath the surface of Seth's friendliness, something darker and hidden and dangerous.

"We can go walk by the beach," he began to ramble. "There are walking trails through the woods too, if you like. Or we could go to a diner or something. There's this awesome place-"

"Sure," Elisabeth mumbled. "Anywhere but here."

She was certain Emily wasn't exactly welcoming of her presence right now, and Sam would be glad to come back and see that she was gone.

Seth smiled widely, his eyes squinting. "Let's go then."

Elisabeth followed him out the door, reminding herself not to be swept up in his boyish charm. He was just like most everyone else, worse even.

He shined brightly because his insides were dark and rotten.


	12. Chapter 12

**Slaves to the Spirits**

 **Chapter Twelve**

* * *

"Do you like the beach?"

The question caught Elisabeth off guard, not because it was personal but because she had hoped Seth would be quiet the whole time, some silent companion, a prison guard meant to escort her somewhere without conversing.

She shrugged. "I haven't been in a long time."

"When did you last go?" he asked, his full focus on her. He turned his head to her, and Elisabeth had the impression that he hadn't thought she would answer at all. Perhaps she would have gotten away with it. She immediately regretted responding.

"With my family," she muttered, stepping over a large root. Seth had neglected to tell her that they would be taking the scenic route to the oceanfront, navigating an underused trail through the wood which lead to the beach. It was covered in fallen branches and thick roots left the ground uneven, and though Elisabeth managed to navigate the trail, it wasn't without difficulty, having spent the majority of her life in suburbs and cities.

"Oh," he said quietly, paused a moment. "Sam told me about it. I lost my dad too." He stopped walking then, latched onto her sleeve to keep her from continuing. He bent his head down to look her in the eye. "I know what it's like."

"Let me guess," Elisabeth snorted, flinging off his grip, "you're here for me? Just want to listen to my problems?" She turned on her heel and continued down the path, Seth taking two leaping bounds to catch up with her.

"That's fine. We'll save the best friend part for later," he assured.

He smiled stupidly and Elisabeth decided that she would probably have liked to hit him, but refrained. "We are never going to be best friends."

Seth grinned like she had told some joke she couldn't remember telling, the same look adults give small children when they do something silly. Patronising almost. Before Elisabeth could mention it, he was making a sweeping gesture with one arm as they came out of the the thick brush and the dirt beneath their feet transformed into sand.

"La Push beach," he announced as if the two had stumbled across a beach in Miami or something, instead of the barren and dreary setting they were standing on the edge of.

The beach was empty, no colourful towels laid out on the dark sand and no umbrellas settled over the top of those laying on their backs, delicate skin soaking up the sunlight. Seaweed washed up to shore with the tide, the distant sound of waves crashing filled Elisabeth's ears, but it was not comforting. Rather, she felt unsettled by the emptiness, the absence of human noise. There was nothing but sand and sea, the waters not the cerulean pools of some beach on a resort island, but cool and dark and deep.

"I'm in awe," she said dryly, folding her arms over her chest.

"Shut up." Seth rolled his eyes and laughed good-naturedly, not offended by her clear distaste for the place he had grown up in. He walked forwards, rushing down a sand dune and turned back around. "You coming?"

Elisabeth sighed and dropped her hands to her sides, following after him.

"Careful," he cautioned, holding a hand out towards her, palm up, "it's steep."

She looked at it for a moment, then his face, her expression bland. She continued down the sand dune without his help, slipping a little and almost losing her balance. Seth's smile faltered as his hand dropped to his side and Elisabeth smirked as she walked past him. It only took a few seconds to hear the sound of sand shifting beneath his feet as Seth followed after her towards the waterfront.

"Alex would love this," she said without thinking, peering out at the endless sea, the waves crashing against jagged cliff sides in the distance. He would like to build sandcastles, to wade through the shallows, to collect seashells in one of those little plastic buckets.

She felt Seth's warmth before she processed his presence, heat radiating from her left as he came to stand beside her and stare out at the water. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Do you like it?"

"It's water and dirt." Elisabeth spun around and started walking along the shore quickly, hoping that the boy might catch the hint that she didn't want to be walking or talking with him.

"Then what about Sam and Emily?" he questioned, catching up to her easily with his long legs. "Do you like living with them?"

"It's been one day."

"What about your room?"

"It's fine."

"I could help you paint it or something if you want," he offered. "I helped move in all the furniture with Paul. I don't think you've met him yet, which is probably a good thing. He's kinda… difficult," he muttered, then turned to face her, stumbling along in the sand beside her as she kept walking. "We could paint it any colour you like though. What's your favourite?"

"My favourite colour?"

"Uh huh."

"I don't have one," Elisabeth said.

Seth looked at her funnily then. "Everyone has a favourite colour."

Elisabeth snorted. She had never heard anything so ridiculous in her life. "Then what's yours?"

"It doesn't work like that," he insisted, frowning as he shook his head. "I asked first."

"I told you I don't have one."

"And I told you I think you're lying."

Elisabeth took a deep breath and gritted her teeth. "What do you want?"

"The truth."

"Well," she said, "that's just too bad, isn't it?"

Seth shook his head, dark hair flopping over with the movement. "Do you want something in return?" He looked happy, genuinely happy, unaware of the growing tension.

"There's nothing you have that I want."

Seth refused to give up. He knew that somewhere, deep down in her ice cold heart, there was someone nice and sweet locked away after years of pain, protected behind a false prickliness and biting words. "You can ask me any question you want, and I'll answer honestly."

"Wow, what a wonderful exchange."

"Like twenty questions," he continued. "It'll be fun."

"You have no idea what fun means."

"So what's your favourite colour?" He charged on with his interrogation with vigour, a childlike curiosity, the type fostered in bright children by parents who wish for their amazement with the world to never vanish. It was as though he were a small boy who had made a new friend and now wanted to know everything there was to know about them that very instant.

"White."

"White?" he repeated. "Why? It's so… plain."

Elisabeth stopped walking, and Seth quickly halted. She leaned in closer to him, so that he could smell her. His face heated immediately at the proximity, at the scent of vanilla and peaches flooding his senses.

"White," she said softly, "is the best colour, because it reflects every colour all at once. Science is just fascinating, isn't it?"

"You like science?"

She scoffed, shaking her head. "If you make me answer a question I don't have an answer to, then you can expect me to say something I don't mean."

Seth frowned as she brushed past him, continuing to walk. He didn't understand why she was making such a big deal out of such a simple question. "Do you lie often?"

Elisabeth turned to look at him, confused by the almost bland expression he wore on his face. His eyes were clear, his mouth a straight line, but his brow was slightly lowered, furrowed. She cocked an eyebrow at him, sighed, and quickened her pace. "Does it matter?" she called over her shoulder.

Seth's frown deepened as he stood watching her walk away, growing smaller as she put more distance between the two of them. How could fate be so cruel, how could she be his destiny? "Yes," he shouted after her, and jogged over to stand in front of her, keeping her from moving forwards. "You should always do the right thing." He said it with conviction, the firmest of belief.

Something in his gaze made Elisabeth sad for him, mourn the death of this boy's freedom, a boy who was imprisoned within the bounds of some false idea of duty. She wanted to laugh at him, wanted to tell him he was wrong, so very wrong. "Maybe lying is sometimes the right thing to do."

"It can't be."

"Murder is wrong," she said. "Lying is that nasty grey ambiguity people don't like to talk about because they all do it."

Seth stared at her for a long moment, searching for some remnant of a decent person in her brown eyes, looking for the person fate decided was his soulmate, hiding somewhere inside of her and just about to reveal herself. She would laugh and shove him playfully and say it was all a joke, that she didn't really believe that.

He couldn't see her.

She shoved past him, her shoulder knocking into his, and he winced as he braced himself for her cry of pain that he was almost certain would follow. Nothing but the sound of shifting sand beneath her feet greeted his ears.


	13. Chapter 13

**Slaves to the Spirits**

 **Chapter Thirteen**

* * *

Elisabeth had considered not going back to the Uley house at all - she refused to call it home - but Seth made it very clear that he had been charged with making sure she was safe and he wasn't going to let her go missing under his watch. He said it with a puffed up chest and a look of pride, like he was a child playing some game.

"What's your favourite thing about La Push?"

Gritting her teeth, Elisabeth reminded herself of Sister Constance's words: patience is a virtue. She repeated it in her head like a mantra, but when she did all she could hear was Mason's snickering in the back of the church or his impersonations of Sister Maria when the two sat in the common room.

"I like that it's small," she said finally. "Less people to bother me."

"You don't mean that," Seth said.

"Don't I?" She stomped over a large branch, hearing the loud crack of the wood giving, and began to search for more loose wood to feel her wrath.

Seth apparently didn't notice her frustrations. "Everybody likes people."

Elisabeth scoffed.

"If you don't like people," he continued, "then maybe you just haven't met the right kind of people."

Elisabeth honestly couldn't comprehend how a person like him even existed. She wanted to ditch the damn walking trail and throw a tantrum and get lost in the woods. She wanted to tell him to leave her alone to die out here. "I'm glad to see that your faith in humanity is just bulletproof."

"Don't you believe in people?"

Elisabeth looked over at him, screwing up her nose in distaste at the genuine lack of understanding on his face - the way his brow was a little scrunched up, the way his head had tipped to the side as if he were a dog or something equally ridiculous. "I'm certain they exist."

He lips curled into a small amused smile. "You know what I meant."

"Just give up on talking to me already."

He persisted. "What's your favourite food?"

"We're not doing this." She began to quicken her pace, eager to escape Seth's interrogation and replace it with Mr. Uley's wrath. He was furious, no doubt.

Seth's voice sounded from beside her seconds later, and Elisabeth realised that she was really starting to hate the boy's long legs and ridiculous height. "Favourite animal?" There was something about his tone, the cheeriness in it, that told Elisabeth that he was genuinely unaware of her growing impatience with his spritely youthfulness.

"Seriously," she said carefully, "I'm warning you."

"What are you gonna do?" he asked, grinning. "They're just questions, Ellie."

Elisabeth stopped walking, spinning on her heel and stalking over to him so that she was standing directly in front of him. She was too close, but she only realised her error after she had made it and a comforting woodsy scent was hindering her ability to concentrate.

She felt a little dizzy, she realised, and wondered absentmindedly if he was one of them, if this was his little trick, if she would end up torn apart in the next few seconds, her body secluded in the dense woods. His brown eyes were the only thing steadying her, keeping her from toppling over, and she felt the sparks of anger reignite with the realisation.

"What?" He peered into her face when she was silent for a moment too long. "What's wrong?"

"Ellie?" she hissed.

"Yeah," he said, unsure why she was taking such an innocent thing so far, "it's a nickname."

Elisabeth smiled. "No, it's not," she said, "because you're not going to call me that."

"Do you not like it?"

Elisabeth shook her head, scoffing. "We're not friends, Seth," she said. "I hope you can get that through your head."

She went to move away but Seth grabbed her hand. "Why not?" he asked, pulling her back towards him. "Why can't we be?"

"I don't have friends and I didn't come here to make them."

"Then I can be your first-"

"You?" Elisabeth laughed, shaking her head in disbelief. How could he possibly even suggest such a thing? Had he lost his damn mind? "I don't think so."

Hurt flashed in his eyes, his expression faltered for just a second, but when he spoke, his voice was flat. "What's wrong with me?"

He looked like a kid in that moment, his eyes stinging with resolve not to cry, and Elisabeth was reminded of all the times she had seen the same look in dozens of other faces, even her own. Her heart twitched, ached, before she reminded herself that she didn't feel empathy anymore, and she cast the feeling away, replacing it with coldness. "I'm leaving soon anyway. Why complicate things?"

"Leaving?" he repeated, and Elisabeth watched as he gave in, as his face crumbled like some old stone building, and the light in his eyes became a fragment of what it had once been. Dim and uncertain. "You can't go," he said, fingers twitching around her wrist, "you only just got here."

If she had heard the same words from anyone else, standing alone in the dense trees away from civilization, she was sure she would have been frightened, but there was a softness to his face, a childishness, that made her fearless.

She convinced herself that she didn't trust him. She hated him. She hated everything about him.

"Sam didn't mention anything about you leaving," he continued. "Where are you gonna go?"

"Away from here." She pried his fingers from her wrist and turned to wander off of the path. "Don't come looking for me," she bit out, "or I'll make sure you regret it."

She disappeared further into the woods as Seth sank to his knees.

Elisabeth managed to navigate through the dense brush without much difficulty. It was harder to get lost in the city, but she had still somehow always managed it, and then always managed to get back home before it got too dark out. It wasn't so different in La Push, although all the trees looked the same and there wasn't enough light from the streets. She stumbled out of the brush somewhere unfamiliar after wandering for a short time, but the sad and dim glow of a cheap convenience store sign in the twilight reassured her that she wasn't without hope of finding her brother.

She had found Leah inside, working the till with a look she could only describe as pitiful. Bored, counting the seconds until her shift ended. She packed white plastic bags and waited impatiently for receipts to print in the meantime, greeting Elisabeth with the faintest look of recognition but not much else. Supposedly her presence wasn't enough to make her forget the routine she had sunk into.

"Weren't you with Seth?" she asked, watching as the glass door closed after her last patron disappeared to his car and Elisabeth wandered over to the fridges.

"I was," she said, humming as she peered over the labels of sports drinks and sodas. She wondered if Emily would be mad if she bought them, drank them all, didn't brush her teeth. She liked to think that she would yell at her for it, say she was setting a bad example for Alex, tell her that sugar lead to cavities.

"So where's my brother then?" Leah raised an eyebrow, peering around the store.

"I said I was," Elisabeth emphasised. "He got annoying, so I ditched."

"You shouldn't do that."

Elisabeth turned to look over at the counter, blinking as she tilted her head. "Why not?"

Leah leaned over the bench, lowering her voice. "La Push might seem boring," she muttered, "and boring might seem safe, but this place hasn't been safe in years."

She couldn't help the snort of laughter that escaped her, the disrespectful little huff of air that told Leah she had disregarded her warning. Elisabeth kept her face bland as she opened the fridge door and reached in for a sports drink. She remembered drinking it before, the label familiar before her. She'd never bought it herself though, always stolen sips from her friends. Maybe she wasn't so different from Mason who stole church wine, maybe it was just a little less sinful. She shook her head, chuckling as she slammed the fridge door closed. "I heard about the bears and the wolves," she said, "and to be honest, I think I'd rather take my chances. Seems like I'm less likely to be mauled than to die of boredom."

"You city girls," Leah sneered, rolling her eyes. "Everything's boring unless it's bright and flashy and dressed up in satin."

Elisabeth dumped the bottle on the counter in front of her. "Sorry if I'm missing something," she said, tilting her head in confusion as she frowned, "but what's so fun about dirt and trees?"

"We're a community. We have a history and family," she said, "which is more than you can say."

Elisabeth smirked at the fire in her glare, watching as she scanned the barcode on the bottle. "You think I don't have history?"

"I think you tell stories to make your nights seem less lonely," Leah hissed. "It's a cold life when you're a bitch. Either way I don't really care." She nodded at the drink on the counter. "That's three dollars fifty."

"The shelf said-"

"I don't care what the shelf said," Leah hissed. "I'm telling you it's three fifty."

Elisabeth stared back at her blankly, silently. "Well," she said slowly, "if you wanna hitch up the prices, then I'm sure you won't mind shouting me just this once. In the spirit of new friendship and all that."

"You can't be serious."

Elisabeth grabbed the bottle from the counter and continued to the door. "Have a nice day, Leah," she said. She lifted the bottle up as she smiled. "Thanks for this. To an everlasting friendship or whatever."

The door shut behind her loudly as she left, and Leah was left hunting for change in her pockets as she stared after her. She growled under her breath and paid for the drink, shoving the coins in the till and ripping the receipt from the printer.

Of all people, why did it have to be someone like her?


	14. Chapter 14

**Slaves to the Spirits**

 **Chapter Fourteen**

* * *

Elisabeth liked to think that the only reason she went back to the Uley house that night was for her brother, but she knew it was a lie. She was selfish and she wanted to eat dinner at midnight and melt under a hot shower, to cry on the tiled floor out of self pity. Somehow it was easier to convince herself that she just wanted to see Alex, somehow it sat better with her. And by the time she was pushing open the front door and stepping inside, she had convinced herself of the lie.

She was greeted immediately with the low hum of conversation in some other room. She didn't need to be able to make out the words to feel the tension, even without standing in it. It had become her superpower, it seemed. She approached hesitantly, creeping to the doorway leading to the dining room and clinging to the walls.

"You were supposed to watch her!" Sam's sharp voice cut through the air, the first voice to greet Elisabeth's ears, as though anger was the first emotion she always picked up on.

When she concentrated a little harder, she could hear Emily's lighter tone interjecting, her voice soothing but not really assuaging, like bath water washing over red and grazed knees. Still stung.

"I'm sure she'll come home, Sam. We shouldn't worry just yet."

"What if she gets taken, Emily?"

A shaky breath. Someone trying to inhale slowly to calm themselves but the action coming out jerky. "Fuck."

"Don't use that language in my house," Emily chided.

Seth's voice came out pained, crackly. "Sorry," he mumbled. There was the sound of fabric rustling, something smacking against the tabletop. "It's all my fault."

"I'm sure she'll be fine. Don't beat yourself up over it."

"We should call the Cullens," Sam said, and the sound of chair legs scraping against wooden floors sent Elisabeth's stomach churning. She heard boots clomping along the floorboards, no clear destination, pacing.

"I'm sure there's nothing strange about her disappearance. She left herself. It wasn't like she was dragged off by the Cold Ones."

Elisabeth frowned.

"Then we should call Charlie and get a search party organised."

"She's not missing. It hasn't been long enough, so the police aren't going to help," Emily rationalised. "She just needed some time away."

"I'm sorry," Seth muttered. "I should have followed her. I don't deserve-"

"Don't," Sam interrupted, "you dare finish that sentence. What I did and what you did are completely different things, so don't you dare say that crap."

"But-"

"Enough," he growled darkly.

Elisabeth decided that it would be best if she snuck up to her room for the time being, let them dwelt in their own self pity. It wasn't like she cared after all, didn't care if they were upset or blaming themselves. She had bigger things to worry about than their fevered cries for the daughter they lost, the daughter they claimed for a day and a half and lost.

Stupid, pitiful people.

Elisabeth hated them all.

Sam came running up the stairs a few minutes later, somehow deciding that now was a good time to check on Alexander, and having the mind to at least fake shock upon seeing Elisabeth sitting on the floor of his bedroom reading with him. Elisabeth supposed he had heard her from downstairs, making up all the voices of the different characters, and if not then Alexander's excited squealing must have caused reason for alarm.

"Elisabeth!" he cried in relief, rushing into the room. His eyes were wide as saucers, but there was some secret hidden within them, some hidden knowledge Elisabeth could easily detect but not decode.

"You're supposed to knock," she said, looking up from the colourful pages of Alex's picture book. Her brother squirmed in her arms, turning around to look up at her face with a questioning look - who was this man and how dare he interrupt? She smiled down at him gently.

Sam rushed to the staircase to call down the stairs that she had been found, and reappeared quickly in the room. "Don't do that again."

"Do what?" she asked. "Read?"

"You can't just run off on your own in the woods, Elisabeth."

"This seems like a conversation I don't want to have," she drawled. Alexander began to fidget with Elisabeth's shoelaces, unsettled. "Can we postpone to next week? This is Alex's favourite part, you see."

"There are consequences to your actions. You can't avoid that."

"Go 'way!" Alexander screeched loudly, pointing one fat little finger towards the door. "Out! Out!"

"See?" Elisabeth sighed, repositioning the child in her lap. "You can't interrupt book time."

"I think it's time we had a serious talk about the behaviour we expect in this household," Sam said sternly, heavily implying that she stand up and follow him out of the room and endure him yelling at her.

Elisabeth sighed.

Footsteps rushed up the stairs and down the hall, and Elisabeth rolled her eyes. "Oh, great," she groaned, seeing two new figures appear in the doorway, peering around Sam's large frame and into the room. "More of you."

"Elisabeth," Emily gasped, rushing past her husband and dropping to her knees in front of her. "Are you okay?" Her hands fluttered about anxiously before they came up to rest on her cheeks, glancing over her body.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

Her warm eyes flickered back up to hers, and she gave a small and almost nervous chuckle. "Looking for injuries, silly."

Silly?

"I'm fine," she told her, reaching up to pull her hands away from her face, glaring.

Emily seemed to take the hint and backed away, standing close to her husband. "Where were you? Seth said you ran off somewhere."

Elisabeth watched him appear from behind Sam. Red-eyed, chest heaving with breath, and yet he approached like she was the one who was upset, slowly and carefully as though she might take fright and vanish again. His movements were fluid as he sank to the ground beside her, the dull thud of his weight against the floor at the last second not going unnoticed to her, and nor did the sudden warmth radiating from his body.

She wished she had the courage to move under his gaze, to slide further away from his large body and into a dark corner of the room where she might find respite from all the eyes staring at her and all the feelings she didn't want to acknowledge. But she was frozen, stuck in the warm depths of his stare, floating through what now looked more like honey than light brown in the warm glow of numerous lamps.

"You found me," she said, swallowing as she forced her eyes away and towards the Uleys. "Now you should go before Alex gets grumpy. Book time is sacred."

Sam hesitated for a moment, but ultimately left. He took his wife by the hand, said he would come back and that it wasn't the end of the discussion, and disappeared out the door.

"You can go too," she said, fixing Alex's socks. "You don't want to see the wrath of a toddler."

"No," Seth croaked. "I'm staying. I have to stay."

Elisabeth bit her lip, frowned, and turned her head to look over at him. "Why?"

"It helps," he muttered quietly, wiping furiously at his cheeks even though they were tearless. His hands dropped back to rest on top of his shorts, curling up into fists and unfurling like a practiced exercise.

Elisabeth swallowed, fearing that she and her brother had been left with a man currently in the process of losing his mind. "What?"

"Forget about it. Finish the book."

Elisabeth turned back hesitantly and continued to read, but it was with less spirit and more caution. She glanced at Seth every few seconds and though she never saw him move, she could have sworn that his warm skin seemed a little closer every time she looked over. It must have been, as the temperature continued to climb.

"Voices," Alex pouted, upset.

Elisabeth shook her head. "We have to be quiet," she lied, hoping the child would drop it. She didn't want to think about how awkward it would be to read so animatedly in front of Seth.

"I don't mind," Seth assured quietly.

Elisabeth cursed him out mentally, but sent her brother an easy smile. "Okay, I'll do the voices."

The awkwardness seemed to grow with every line she read aloud, every voice she made up to make her brother giggle in delight, every small smile she caught playing on Seth's lips when her eyes darted over to look at him. By the last line, Elisabeth was almost certain that her cheeks resembled the vibrant shade of a ripe tomato.

"Done!" Alexander squealed, standing up clumsily as he slammed the book shut and chucked it to the side. He turned back around, pouting and grabbing onto Elisabeth's fingers, jerking her arm towards him. "Eat," he said.

"Elisabeth has something to do," Seth said, reaching out for his hand. "I'll take you downstairs and we can find Mrs. Uley, and she'll make us something good to eat, okay?"

He nodded. The second he heard the word 'eat', he was sold. Alexander latched onto Seth's hand and pulled hard, and he made a big show of how strong Alex must have been to be able to pull him up so easily.

"Bye bye!" Alex waved to his sister as he stood by the door, before disappearing down the hall.

Seth went to chase after him, pausing once Alex was out of earshot. "I hate you," he said from the doorway, and though he said it quietly so that Alex wouldn't hear, there was a conviction to his voice that made the words more believable than if he had yelled them. "At least, I wish I could. Go find Sam and Emily and apologise."

He disappeared down the hall, grinning widely at Alexander as he caught up to the toddler. "Woah, you're so fast!" Elisabeth heard him marvel.

She heard Alexander giggle loudly as he was swept up into the arms of Seth, the sound of feet padding down the stairs, and then the muffled call of Emily's name as the two tried to convince her to make them pancakes after dinner.

Clenching her fists, Elisabeth stood up and left the room, eager now to have that hot shower she had been hoping for, to crawl into her fresh cotton sheets and fall into a deep uninterrupted sleep.


	15. Chapter 15

**Slaves to the Spirits**

 **Chapter 15**

* * *

Her plans fell through. Elisabeth had only just pulled on an old hoodie and a pair of sweatpants, worn through in the knees, when the knock on her bedroom door and Sam's demand that she be in the living room downstairs in five minutes dismissed any hope she had for getting a good night's rest. She rolled her eyes and yanked the door open, trudged down the stairs, praying that Seth had long-since left and the conversation would be short.

It wasn't.

Sam seemed to want to drag the whole thing out, offering her coffee as she appeared at the bottom of the stairs, and then tea when she refused. He sat in one of the armchairs, leaned back, took a big gulp of black coffee, and watched keenly as she sank into the cushions of the couch in front of the television.

"I'm not the bad guy here."

Elisabeth wanted to scoff, but caught herself.

"I'm really not," he insisted. "I want to be a good father to you and your brother. But what happened today can't happen again."

"I can't leave?" she asked. "So I'm a prisoner here, in your house?"

"The woods are dangerous."

"Everything's dangerous. That's life. We breathe air we think is safe and then eighty years later we die."

Sam leaned forward to set his mug on the coffee table. He sighed loudly as he sat back in his chair, watching her with those dark analytical eyes, as if he could peer into her mind. "You can't hate everybody you meet because of what happened to you."

"You have no idea what happened to me," she hissed. "Don't you dare sit there and think you know anything."

"So tell me," he invited.

Elisabeth shook her head. "Can you hurry up and tell me off so I can go? I have other commitments to attend to."

"You're sneaking off again?" Sam asked. "Are you meeting with that boy? I know he was in there, Elisabeth."

"You caught me," she said. She smirked, holding up her hands in surrender. "Sweet dreams of dimples and flirty smiles await in dreamland."

Sam gave a short chuckle, but it was clearly fake. He stood up then, wandered into the kitchen. "Want cookies? Emily made them today."

Elisabeth said no but he brought her one anyway, holding it out to her with an almost hopeful look, like he had convinced himself that if she took this it would be like everything was forgiven.

She hoped he knew his peace offering was inadequate.

"Emily stress bakes," he said as she took the sugar cookie from him and bit into it. He returned to his seat, ate his own biscuit, drank his coffee. "You worried us today."

"I worry people everyday."

"Seth panicked. He thought you were dead and it was all his fault."

"Well, if you give him a task, it's his fault if he doesn't do it well. Not mine."

Sam shifted in his seat. "What if something had happened?"

She shrugged.

"What about Alex?"

Elisabeth stopped breathing. She froze in her seat and bit her cheek. "What about him?" she asked hoarsely after a moment. "He has a family now. He's young. He'd forget about me."

"He shouldn't have to pay the price for your recklessness," Sam said. "You're his sister."

"Half-sister," Elisabeth corrected.

"Half?"

Elisabeth laughed. "Have you not looked at him? At me?"

"Did one of your parents remarry?"

Elisabeth turned away from him. "That's a nice Christmas tree," she said. "I don't know if Emily told you I said that. But it's nice. Pretty."

Sam nodded. "She mentioned it."

"We had one like that," she said, "before it caught fire."

"Did the lights malfunction?"

"No." Elisabeth laughed, shaking her head. She stood up and headed into the kitchen, deciding maybe a coffee wouldn't be so bad, and refilled the kettle before setting it on the hob to boil. "No, my dad carried it outside on Christmas Eve, doused it in gasoline and tossed a match."

"Why?"

"There's no sense in asking why he did anything," she said. "For fun, maybe. He hated the Christmas tree topper - it was my mother's. Maybe that's why."

"What happened?"

"It lit up like a birthday cake."

"I mean," Sam said, "what did your mother do?"

"She cried," Elisabeth said, shrugging. The kettle began whistling and she took it off the hob, pouring hot water into a green mug. "So did Alex. He loved that tree. We spent all day decorating it. Well, he spent all day playing with the tinsel, at least."

When she turned back around to face him, Sam wasn't sure what he had expected to see. A girl in tears, perhaps, some low-burning hatred in her eyes. Instead he was greeted with the same clear expression she always wore, defensive but not pained. She sat back down and warmed her hands with the hot beverage and looked at him expectantly, as though she was waiting for him to push for something more, to reach for something greater.

He wasn't sure what to say though.

"I see."

Elisabeth smiled. "Don't you want to know what happened afterwards?" she asked. "How we ended up in St. Emiliano's?"

Sam frowned. "If you don't want to tell me, then-"

"Go on," Elisabeth pushed, smiling gently. "I can see it in your eyes." She shifted in her chair, squirming as though settling in and preparing to hear a long tale from a grandparent by the fire. "Ask me."

"What happened to your family?" Sam asked hesitantly, confused as to why she was pushing so hard for him to question her.

"Do you really want to know?"

Sam nodded. "Yes."

Elisabeth sat still for a moment, watching him closely for some faltering, some uncertainty revealing itself as fear. She was greeted with nothing but curiosity and slight confusion. Her smile grew slowly into a wide grin, into something sinister, a wild twisting of her mouth. She leaned forwards, scrunching up her nose a little.

"I killed them," she stage-whispered, before leaning back and taking a small sip of her milky coffee. She looked back up at Sam's face, at the furrow in his brow and saw the blend of confusion and fear and worry brewing away in his eyes.

Her eyes sparkled.


	16. Chapter 16

**Slaves to the** **Spirits**

 **Chapter 16**

* * *

Elisabeth wasn't surprised to see Sister Constance and Ms. Porter standing stiffly near the front door as she came downstairs in the morning. She expected it after last night. In fact, she liked to think that when she left to go to bed, Sam ran into the kitchen to call them urgently, wanting to see her files and disregarding any semblance of consideration for the late hour. If she scared the Uleys, maybe they would send her back, and then she and Alexander could wait out the days until her eighteenth birthday someplace safe, without strangers wanting to replace her dead parents.

"Elisabeth," Ms. Porter greeted, her eyes narrowed into slits as she appraised her raggy pajamas. "What's this I hear about you causing trouble for this lovely couple?"

"Why do you sound shocked?"

Sister Constance reached out to touch Ms. Porter's shoulder, shaking her head as she smiled. "We came for a reason," she reminded. "To discuss the placement of the two children, not to start arguments."

Ms. Porter sighed, nodding, clearly upset that her fun had been spoiled. Elisabeth imagined that she would have liked to have a reason to yell at her. She recognised the desire lurking in her eyes as she turned away and towards the Uleys, the tiny spark of a flame dancing in her gaze as her eyes passed over her.

"We should sit," she said, and the four of them moved off towards the dining room. She paused as she came to stand near Elisabeth. "You come too," she told her, looking at her sharply, before gliding past.

Elisabeth sighed, stealing a piece of bacon from the stove Emily had turned off in a hurry and eating it quickly. She followed the group and sat beside Sister Constance at the dining table. She wasn't looking forward to the discussion she knew awaited, but hoped that by the end of it she would be free.

Sister Constance wore her habit to house calls, and somehow it made the whole thing worse, more formal. It felt as though it was about something greater than Elisabeth or the institute or the state. It was like God was peering into Elisabeth's soul whenever her green eyes came to rest on her face, smiling gently through disappointment - what a lovely failure, He must have thought, such a shame, such a waste.

"Whatever you are thinking," she said, reaching out to take up her hands in her own, "is trouble."

She held Elisabeth's hands gently in her own, calloused palms pressed against her soft and younger skin, like one might hold a baby bird. She didn't squeeze. Her grip was like being wrapped up in tepid water, soothing, peaceful. Elisabeth could have drowned in her embrace.

"What good has thinking done for you these past years?" Her eyes sparkled like two emeralds set within her weathered face, an amused curve of her lips hinting at humour.

Elisabeth smiled.

Ms. Porter rolled her eyes from across the table, shifting in her seat to dig out the manilla folder from her leather handbag. "She's right," she said. "Leave the tricky part to the professionals. You have a nasty habit of making a mess of things."

Sam and Emily entered the room, and Ms. Porter quickly leaned back into her seat, smiling widely as the two sat.

"Thank you for coming on such short notice," Emily said.

"I'm glad you called," Ms. Porter said, leaning in eagerly. "Now, what would you like to talk about first?"

"Lucy, you know that's not-"

"Oh, shut it," Ms. Porter waved off Sister Constance. "Nobody cares for your outdated way of things, your subtle and gentle approaches. They want the juicy bits, the bone-chilling facts." Ms. Porter turned to look over at the couple, smiling widely as she tipped her head to the side. "You do, don't you?"

"Uh," Emily hesitated, "just… whatever you all think is important. Whatever we need to know to be the supporting family she needs."

Elisabeth thought she was dead. She thought she had died and gone to some strange place, stuck forever in her perpetual suffering.

Ms. Porter looked equally shocked. "I-" she stammered. "You… what?"

"Maybe we should go through her file." Sister Constance reached for the folder containing her information. "We can talk about her history and go from there."

Elisabeth changed her mind. She wasn't dead. At least, if she was, this was hell. "Can I not be here for that?"

"You're not leaving," Ms. Porter said. "You seem unstable, and there's no way I'm letting you out of my sight until we finish. So you relax and settle yourself in for a nice long wait."

Elisabeth listened as Ms. Porter explained in gruesome detail the circumstances of her parents' deaths, how she had been left traumatised by the evils committed in her childhood home. She told her history as though it were a bedtime story, with an excitement that wasn't reasonable, a glimmer in her eyes that Elisabeth couldn't discern, a lilt to her voice that seemed strange and inappropriate.

"Our darling Elisabeth and her brother both grew up in a broken home," she began in a storyteller's voice. "Their lives were riddled with a deep hopelessness, a desperation that seeped into their bones, and an innate fear of men."

"Not true." Elisabeth smacked her head on the tabletop.

She didn't need to look up to know that Ms. Porter had sent her a nasty glare, no doubt to keep her from interrupting the tale she believed was her right to tell.

"The man they called their father was a drunk," she continued. "He would often come home after a night at the bar and hit his wife or yell at the children."

"That's awful," Emily gasped. Even though Elisabeth had closed her eyes, letting the darkness that dwelt behind her eyelids take over, she still had the urge to roll her eyes at the dramatics her life seemed to inspire.

"Alexander wasn't his child, you see," Ms. Porter said. "He was a child of infidelity, sharing the same mother as Elisabeth but not the same father. When he found out he wasn't his, he was livid."

"Livid," Elisabeth repeated, chuckling. "Good word. Nice touch." She heard someone tut at her.

"He killed his wife in cold blood," Ms. Porter said. "He took an axe from the toolshed and attacked her one night while she was up late, waiting for him to come home."

Elisabeth heard Emily suck in a sharp breath, the soft murmurs of her husband as he tried to calm her. She felt sick. This was her trauma, her life, and they were telling it like some fictional tale around a campfire, crying along with her as if they understood.

"Both Alexander and Elisabeth saw her dismembered body on the living room carpet, but it was poor sweet Elisabeth who found her father hung from the ceiling of his bedroom. And on the walls, written in blood, were the words…" She paused for dramatic effort. Elisabeth heard the groan of the furniture as she leaned closer and whispered, "I am free."

The chair creaked again as she leaned back slowly, no doubt impressed with her performance, but Elisabeth cringed inwardly at the lie she had told. She remembered Ms. Porter telling her that she didn't need to worry about the past. She snuck into Sister Constance's office one night and stole her file, falsified some information, slipped it back into the filing cabinet.

I'm doing you a kindness, she said to her, you don't want Alexander to grow up with the consequences of what happened that night, do you?

Elisabeth shook her head. No, ma'am.

Ms. Porter stroked her hair caringly, smiling down prettily at the younger girl. Her face was rounder back then, her skin glowier, her eyes wide with fear and a childish naivety she had outgrown.

Try to make some friends here, Ms. Porter told her. You're a sweet girl, I know you can do it. It will make the pain easier to bear.

Elisabeth nodded. Yes, ma'am.

Good girl. Ms. Porter pulled her black gloves back on, plucked up her sunglasses from a nearby table. She liked to tell everyone they were a designer brand but Elisabeth knew they were fake. Her mother had real ones. She stole them, but that wasn't the point.

Are you leaving? Elisabeth asked her, the terror in her voice poorly hidden as she held her younger brother close to her chest, voice wavering.

Ms. Porter paused by the door, smiling gently. I have places to be, she told her, and I won't stay here with you forever. I'm not your mother, Elisabeth. She nodded her head down the hall, jerking her chin towards the drab insides of the house from which Elisabeth could hear childish squeals of delight and the low quiet hum of bored conversation. Go make some friends. She smiled gently, pushed her forwards a little. Go on, dear.

She smiled widely until Elisabeth turned hesitantly, and watched her continue into the common room, disappearing behind the door with one last look of terror directed to the older woman.

Ms. Porter walked out the door, and was never quite so pleasant again.

"So you see, their tale is truly one of pain and suffering," Ms. Porter said. "Growing up in a home filled with such sins; infidelity and lust, domestic violence, murder. We can hardly expect them to be unscarred."

"Can I leave yet?" Elisabeth groaned into the table.

"You can sit up," Sister Constance said, "and deal with this like the adult you will soon be."

Elisabeth forced herself to sit upright, folding her arms over her chest.

"Why did you lie last night?" Sam asked her.

"What did she say?"

"That she killed her parents," Mr. Uley said, before focusing on her again. "Why did you lie, Elisabeth?"

She shrugged, avoiding eye contact. Telling the truth wouldn't help her get out of this house, and lying would only create more problems. "The rest of it was true."

Mr. Uley looked away from her. His eyes darted between Sister Constance's worn face and Ms. Porter's easy smile. "What do you recommend?"

"Euthanasia."

"Lucy!" Sister Constance scolded, horrified. "How dare you come into this house and speak like that!"

"It was a joke." Ms. Porter shrugged off her anger. "But. we must know their faults so that we may correct them."

"And what are the faults of these two poor unfortunate children?"

Ms. Porter smirked, turning towards Mrs. Uley. "Can I smoke in here?"

"No."

She pulled out a cigarette anyway, ignoring Emily's protests, and placed it between her lips as she searched her bag for her lighter. "Their faults? Well, birth, I suppose," she said around the cigarette, looking over at Sister Constance. "Do you really believe people become bad over time?"

Silence greeted her.

Her eyes flickered up. "Well, do you?" she pressed, glaring sharply around the table. "Elisabeth?"

Elisabeth met her gaze levelly, ignoring the irritation simmering away in Ms. Porter's eyes. "Yes," she said. "I do."

Ms. Porter shook her head as she laughed and continued to dig around in her purse. "No, dear, all bad people are born bad," she corrected, pulling out a little plastic lighter and flicking it to light her cigarette. "Sometimes it just takes a while for them to realise it."

"Mrs. Uley said you can't smoke in here." Elisabeth snatched the lit cigarette and dumped it in Ms. Porter's coffee.

Her caseworker looked up at her with wide eyes. "Elisabeth," she gasped, "what dreadful manners!"

"You can't smoke in someone else's house."

"You're an insolent little-"

"Ladies," Sister Constance interrupted, voice stern. "Enough."

Neither apologised, instead refusing to look at each other.

Sister Constance took another long moment to glare at the both of them disapprovingly, before turning her attention back to the Uleys. "I would recommend therapy, Mr. Uley," she said calmly, "but Elisabeth is… not very fond of the idea."

"I'd rather drown in a lake," she said, jerking her head towards Ms. Porter, "and I'll gladly take this one along with me."

"Elisabeth," Sister Constance scolded, and the girl withered under her stare.

"We don't want to force Elisabeth into doing anything she doesn't want to," Emily said.

"Patience," Sister Constance said, "is the most important virtue to practice."

"If you want to die unaccomplished, then sure," Ms. Porter said, "but sometimes you just have to force things."

Sister Constance gave the Uleys a pointed look, shaking her head as she smiled. Elisabeth cringed at the foolish analogy she knew was approaching - it was the same comparison she drew every time. "To have a daughter," she began, and Elisabeth felt her eyes sliding to the back of her skull, "is to have a delicate rose growing in your garden."

"Oh my g-"

"You must gently nurture it if you want to to watch it bloom," Sister Constance continued, ignoring Ms. Porter as she rubbed her temples almost aggressively. "If you're too forceful it will wither, and you will be pricked by its thorns too."

"This is why you need to resign," Ms. Porter sighed. "Old age is making you loopy. Nobody cares for your silly little analogies."

"Nobody cares for your hairstyle either," Elisabeth muttered, leaning back in her chair so that it rocked on its back two legs, "but I think that's rather obvious, don't you?"

"Why anybody would want to keep you in their home is beyond my comprehension!"

"Well, why you're unmarried isn't beyond mine!" Elisabeth countered. "You're a bitch and nobody could ever love you!"

Ms. Porter's jaw dropped, her eyes widening, and there was an awful moment of silence that followed.

"Elisabeth, apologise," Sam said sternly.

"No," Elisabeth refused, "I won't. She's a bitch and everybody knows it."

Ms. Porter said nothing as she stood up. She just glared at Elisabeth, probably wishing she would spontaneously combust, as she snatched up her things. She stormed out of the room without another word, and seconds later Elisabeth heard her car engine start.

The group sat in stunned silence, the Uleys staring at Elisabeth, Sister Constance staring at the surface of the table, and Elisabeth refusing to look at any of them.

"Do you have a phone I could use?" Sister Constance asked after a long moment, her voice frail as she scooped up the papers from Elisabeth's file, sweeping them into the manilla folder. "I'm afraid that we came together, and since she left…"

"I'll call you a taxi," Sam said, standing from the table and leaving the room.

Sister Constance didn't speak to Elisabeth when she left, didn't say goodbye. She realised she had never been so disappointed and disgusted with her before. Elisabeth watched through the window of her bedroom as Sam walked her out to the taxi, as Sister Constance climbed into the back seat, as Sam leaned into the passenger window to hand the driver some money.

She watched as the car pulled away, drove off down the street, and Sam turned around. His eyes met Elisabeth's through the window. He stared at her for a few long seconds and then ducked his head, walking up to the house. She heard the front door slam, and then nothing for the rest of the day.

* * *

Though nobody had said it, Elisabeth knew that she had been confined to her room, shunned and thrown into the equivalent of a timeout corner. She knew from the way that Emily did not call her down to lunch, but rather brought up a plate of mac and cheese, and a can of soda sometime later.

She tried to sit on the edge of the bed, to engage with Elisabeth, to talk to her, but she would have none of it. She stared back at her blankly, her gaze empty if not curious, wondering silently why she was even bothering.

Emily left each time she came with the same result. Crippling silence.

She sought comfort in her kitchen, an escape from the twisting in her gut, the warning she got before a storm. Leaning over the sink, she watched as cold water ran over her hands and down the drain, seeing only the absent look on Elisabeth's face when she had entered her room, the lack of recognition as she stared at her. It was like looking into a void, a bottomless pit. There was something haunting about her total resignation, the hopelessness of being trapped in a room according to nobody's command but her own.

"Should I be worried?"

Emily jumped as she heard the low rumble of her husband's voice beside her, hand fluttering up to her throat as she gave him a weak smile. "I didn't hear you," she said, turning off the tap and drying her hands on a nearby tea towel.

Sam hummed, snaking his arms around her waist and dipping his head to press a kiss to her shoulder. "Well, you know what they say…"

"I really don't."

His arms tightened as he began to assault every inch of exposed skin within reach with small pecks. "That's good," he said, "because neither do I."

Emily laughed, pushing away his arms. "You're so weird," she snorted. "Behave, and maybe I'll make fried chicken later."

He held up his hands in surrender and went to sit on the other side of the counter, resting his elbows on the clean benches as he leaned forwards. He watched his wife with keen interest as she moved about the kitchen, reaching into cabinets and then into the depths of the fridge for things he honestly had no idea how she transformed into deliciousness.

"Are you staring?" Emily raised an eyebrow as she placed all the ingredients on the bench, pushing up the sleeves of her jumper.

"Maybe."

"Remember I'm the one with the knife," she said, smirking, "so you better behave."

"Sorry, Mrs. Uley," Sam muttered, ignoring the dramatic eye roll her wife offered him. She was over him calling her that, but for him it still held the same sweet ring as it had the first night he called her that. He watched for some time as she chopped fruit with an increasing level of agitation - an exercise that she had begun carefully became something reckless quickly, and the knife hitting the chopping board loudly had every muscle in his body taut and ready to spring over the bench. "What are you thinking about?"

"You."

"Liar," he snorted. "Tell me what's wrong."

She took a deep breath and put the knife down, much to Sam's pleasure. "It's about what Ms. Porter said."

"Why do you care what she said? She's-"

"I know," his wife said quickly, "but she must have some qualifications and she must know something. What if…"

Sam cocked an eyebrow as Emily hesitated, silently prodding her to continue.

"I mean, do you think Alexander will remember it?"

He sighed, frowning as he shifted in his seat. "No. He was too young."

"But it must have been traumatic. What if he does?"

"Then we help him," Sam said easily. "We help both of them. That's our duty."

Emily nodded, looking down at the cutting board. "You're right," she said, swallowing. "I just… it must have been so horrible for them to find their mother like that. And Elisabeth…"

"All we can do is try our best."

His wife huffed in frustration, turning away from him. "Why haven't I seen any of the pack raiding my fridge recently?"

"I may have told them to stay away for a while."

Emily frowned. "Our home is theirs too. You know how it goes, Sam."

"I know. I just thought it might be better until they both settle in."

"I don't think that's going to happen," Emily told him, smiling sadly as she kicked the fridge door shut. "I think they need something normal in their lives. A dinner party."

"Babe, I have some bad news." Sam stood up, coming around the counter to stand behind her.

"And what's that?"

His hands came to rest on her shoulders as he leaned forwards to whisper in her ear. "There's nothing normal about our lives," he murmured, hot breath hitting the shell of her ear and sending a wave of tingles down her spine. "If they need normal, we're not it."

He reached over her to steal a piece of sliced apple, dodging the hand she swung at him with jokingly. He rushed out the kitchen grinning, happy to hear his wife laughing for the first time all day.


End file.
